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Dy\^HTERS 

“™ OF THE 

REVOLUTION 


BY / 

STEPHEN HENRY THAYER 

*v 

Author of “ Songs of Sleepy Hollow/’ “ Essays on 
Tennyson, Matthew Arnold, Lowell,” etc., etc. 






THE 

^ Bbbcy press 

PUBLISHERS 

114 

FIFTH AVENUE 

Condon NEW YORK IHontroal 






THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 

Two Copies Received 

AUG. 14 1901 

C0PVRIQWY ENTRY 

LASS^ n» 

COPY B. 



Copyright, 1901, 
by 
THE 

Bbbey press 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 






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TO THE 


Daughters of the American Revolution 

THIS VOLUME IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED 
BY THE AUTHOR, 

IN WHOSE VEINS RUNS THE SAME 


REVOLUTIONARY BLOOD 


. 



DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


CHAPTEE I. 

In the period of time bordering on the inception of 
the war for American independence, long subsequent 
to the Stamp Act, a j'oung Englishman, Richard 
Andros, had taken passage on a vessel sailing from the 
mother country to the new world. 

At the commencement of this story the bark on which 
he sailed had nearly reached the port of New York for 
which it was bound, and where Andros designed mak- 
ing for himself a new home. 

He had parted from his old world connections not 
altogether regretfully. His parents had died in his 
early life, since which he had been under the guardian- 
ship of an uncle whose chief concern had manifestly 
been to free himself as much as was possible from the 
responsibility of his charge. 

His home with his uncle had not been congenial; he 
had felt from the first that he was there on sufferance, 
and to a highly keyed nature, dependence upon another 
for support under such conditions is difficult to bear. 

The bitter realization of his situation led Andros to 
seek some avenue of escape from ties so onerous and 


6 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


humiliating. After long and patient waiting for means 
of alleviation, he finally determined on the course 
which he had now adopted. 

Andros was the son of an English nobleman, who 
had so dissipated his estate by improvident manage- 
ment and extravagant expenditures, that in the settle- 
ment, after his death, nothing of consequence remained 
of the wreck. 

The uncle, who was the owner of rich estates, bore a 
title, and was a man of leisure. He determined, since 
he had a son of his own upon whom his title and estates 
Svould descend, that his nephew should enter the 
church, as he deemed him ill-fitted to enter tbe military 
service, these two resources being about the only avail- 
able ones open to portionless sons of the gentry in the 
period of which we write. 

This determination of the uncle was conveyed to 
Richard on the date of his twentieth birthday. The 
plan met with no favor from young Andros, since, 
aside from the fact that he could not unreservedly ac- 
cept the tenets of the Established Church, he felt, and 
with apparent reason, that he lacked those qualities 
which may properly be considered as essential to the 
church office. 

The early period in his life when he had been de- 
prived of his parents and of the home associations at- 
tending, rendered the memory of these vague, and as 
he grew older the home idea became, with him, little 
more than a tradition. He had a sensitive, affectionate 
nature, which craved sympathy and sought, intuitively, 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 1 

for some friend or associate upon whom to fasten ties 
of endearment ; the comparative absence of these, was 
a great deprivation, and wrought in his young nature 
a loneliness of feeling litile short of tragic. These 
bonds of attachment lacking, there gradually developed 
in his mind somewhat of a restless, venturesome spirit. 
He had firmness of purpose in his character, but it was 
under guidance of a strong propensit}’ to see the world, 
at least, that part of the world embraced in the North 
American provinces, as yet so little known by the 
average Englishman. 

When his uncle discovered Richard’s disinclination 
to enter the church, he was, at first, disposed to disre- 
gard the young man’s preference. “What can a boy 
of twenty know,” he replied to his nephew, “concern- 
ing his wisest course in the selection of a profession?” 

For a time the uncle. Sir Charles Andros, held the 
reins tightly, and insisted on acquiescence in his 
plan; but, while headstrong in many things, and pos- 
sessed with the pardonable desire to control the affairs 
of his own household, he yet did not feel sufficient in- 
terest in his nephew to persist in arbitrarily dictating 
to him. 

Beyond the very indifferent care which he had be- 
stowed upon the boy during the latter’s younger 3"ears, 
he had paid little personal attention to his wants or 
training. He sent him away to school as early in life 
as he could arrange it, trusting him to the supervision 
of tutors. Richard, after j^earsof indifferent schooling, 
at last resolved to accomplish his long-cherished desire 


8 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


to sail away to the new world, about which he had 
heard so much, even though, in doing so, he probably, 
would permanently sever all relations with his uncle’s 
home. 

The spirit of the Englishman, at the period of this 
narrative, with the new colonial settlement in the 
western world inviting him to unexplored wealth, 
was, perhaps, less insular than it is at the present day. 
Emigration was on an extensive scale, considering that 
only sailing vessels ploughed the sea; many younger 
sons of titled families were tempted to cross the waters 
and to seek a home and fortune in Maryland, Virginia, 
and the colonies, while these were yet colonial posses- 
sions of England, and members of such families were 
installed in stations of governmental trust by the home 
government, where they were enabled to enjoy emolu- 
ments and assume consequential pretentions to dignity 
and influence. Young Andros, however, was not of 
this number; he had neither the influence nor inclina- 
tion to aspire to a government appointment of any 
grade. 

In parting from the old country, too, as he was 
doing, his manner of leave-taking could hardly be ex- 
pected to bear with it any favors from his uncle. He 
was going alone, unrecommended, and the journey was 
a long one in those days. 

As he realized that the time of his departure was 
nearing, he was not altogether exempt from heart- 
pangs. While eager to advance his prospects, there 
were genuine feelings of reluctance in parting, for he 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


9 


was not wholly without associates who had become 
dear to him. 

He was about to venture at the mercy of winds and 
storms; he was to take up a new, rough life, in the 
heart of a strange country, among strange peoples, 
where he would be deprived of many comforts, and 
subjected to unaccustomed hardships, relying solely on 
his own courage, foresight and energy for a successful 
issue. 

There is a certain fascination attending untried ven- 
tures, where one is cast on his own resources, and 
where unexpected wants intervene to perplex one’s 
judgment and confound his speculations; v^here, too, 
one is liable to meet with thrilling episodes, possibly 
imminent perils. The hardy frontiersman knows of 
these, at least, anticipates them, indeed, is rather at 
home in the midst of them. He meets hardships, de- 
privations, even death, it may be, in the bellicose 
spirit. He knows the risks, takes them deliberately, 
like a philosopher; but a fine-grained nature shrinks, 
temperamentally, from conditions involving what seem 
to be gratuitous risks; he holds himself aloof from en- 
counters with barbarians; he does not relish them. 

It is a condition which a high order of civilization 
imposes, that men shall properly observe all tbe ameni- 
ties; shall exercise forbearance, courtesy, patience and 
good manners under the most untoward circumstances, 
but it is difficult to retain these habits of breeding 
while associated with wild, or adventurous spirits such 
as a new country attracts; yet with all of his independ- 


10 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


ence and nonconformity, Richard Andros was deeply 
.Tibued with the qualities which mark the true gentle- 
man, and from the first resolved to retain these quali- 
ties, untarnished, in every relation of his life, whatever 
might befall him. 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


11 


CHAPTER II. 

Nearing the port of New York (where we find him 
at the opening of our story), a town of but a few thou- 
sand people, retaining many Dutch characteristics 
which a hundred years of English provincial govern- 
ment had not succeeded in greatly diminishing, young 
Andros was stirred with novel sensations, which sharp- 
ened his curiosity, and filled him with the spirit of in- 
quiry and resoluteness. He had heretofore traveled 
but little, and now three thousand miles of ocean sepa- 
rated him from the home of his nativity, while before 
him was an almost infinite stretch of continent, with 
little in its vast territory that had received the civiliz- 
ing touch of man, and with scarcely one whom he could 
seek out as a friend who could advise or aid him in his 
new venture. He did, however, recall that a year 
before, John Fairfax, a young man whom he had for- 
merly known, had left the mother country for the 
colonies, and was settled in or near New York. 

As Andros neared New York, he felt keenly his 
isolated situation. He was thrown on his own re- 
sources, with only a very scant supply of means in 
hand, and with no home funds on which he could feel 
at liberty to draw when these were exhausted. 

Andros, now in his twenty-second year, had, during 


12 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


the two years just past, undertaken the study of 
engineering and surveying, he had also commenced a 
tentative course in architecture. He determined if pos- 
sible to find some means of continuing these studies, 
knowing how valuable such acquirements would prove, 
indeed, invaluable, in a new country. 

He had found the captain of the bark on which he ^ 
was sailing, well informed about the topography of the 
town of New York, and under bis direction, when the 
vessel arrived, after having secured his luggage and 
taken farewell of the ship’s passengers with whom he 
had made acquaintance on the voyage, Andros found 
his way to the famous little hostelry on Pearl Street, 
where many strangers received hospitality. 

This inn was of Dutch type and origin, the main 
building having been erected over a hundred years be- 
fore, in the days when the renowned Peter Stuyvesant 
held the office of governor- general of the province, un- 
der the Dutch charter. The structure was built of 
Holland brick, and quaintly decorated with wood em- 
bellishments. An old sign (the original one) swung 
from the hinge of a projecting bracket over the door, 
with the figure of the redoubtable governor, his famous 
wooden leg and all, rather fantastically painted on 
either side. Over this, in almost obliterated charac- 
ters, was traced the name of the hostelry “The Stuy- 
vesant Inn,” in both Dutch and English. 

This popular resort had for a hundred years or more 
welcomed innumerable guests from every quarter of the 
globe into its cozy little bar. To this latter room our 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


13 


young friend found his way, and gave his order for 
food and lodging, mentioning the name of the captain 
of the bark Speedwell, as a guarantee for his character 
and requirements. 

The bar was a long, low room, finished in oak, with 
heavy oaken beams supporting the ceiling, solid and 
massive enough ; while paneled wainscotings bordered 
the walls. In the center of the wall opposite the hall 
entrance was a huge, open fireplace, in which were 
blazing great logs of hickory and chestnut, for it was 
early spring, and the March winds blew in gales from 
the East River. About this fire, which was generous 
enough to entertain a small army of loitering customers 
and loungers from the town, were seated, around small 
tables, gossiping frequenters of the inn almost com- 
pletely filling every nook and corner of the apartment. 
Tobacco smoke settled in stifling clouds about the heads 
of the occupants of the room. Beer, ale and gin shared 
competitively in furnishing the needed stimulant to the 
social gossip now in full circulation. 

This old-fashioned picture, not without its attrac- 
tions, may be contrasted not unfavorably with the 
greater modern elegance which pervades the club resorts 
in the same city at the present time. 

Young Andros, while suffering from a sense of lone- 
liness from which he could not wholly divest his 
thoughts, was drawn to this unique jovial gathering by 
a kindred feeling. There was a generous warmth fill- 
ing the room where, though noisy and carelessly con- 
genial, the spirit of good-fellowship was plainly a 
familiar guest. 


14 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


He was shown to his sleeping apartment above stairs, 
a small, yet very inviting room, roughly furnished and 
unpretentious, but scrupulously cared for. After 
changing h^ garments and giving himself a more pro- 
nounced air of unmistakable respectability, he betook 
himself to the kitchen and dining room, which were 
one and the same room, where guests were served their 
meals. As he was late, it being in the middle of the 
afternoon, he found himself nearly alone at the 
table. There was food enough, and he was sufficiently 
hungry, to appropriate a generous share, washing it 
down with a pot of good old English ale. Having 
satisfied the demands of an appetite which was certainly 
not abstemious, he strolled ag^in into the common 
room. He had before given the occupants only a cur- 
sory survey, but now at his leisure, he sat undisturbed, 
listening to the novelty of numerous separate conver- 
sations, pitched in various keys, and being carried on 
with an energy and absence of formality quite foreign 
to the traditional English habit, but not the less refresh- 
ing for its manifest social contagion. He soon discov- 
ered that whatever bantering might occur, and how- 
ever hilarious the tone, there was yet a serious 
undercurrent pervading the spirit and tenor of all he 
heard. One subject especially commanded the atten- 
tion of the various groups, and that was the arbitrary 
and unjust attitude of the mother country in her treat- 
ment of the colonies, by the imposition of taxation with- 
out representation, accompanied by her indisposition to 
listen to grievances. 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


15 


Slowly but surely the public feeling bad been aroused 
to the point of resistance, and discussion was becoming 
more and more uncompromising against what was pro- 
nounced an indefensible usurpation of prerogative. 

Public sentiment was rapidly approaching the point 
where deep indignation takes control; when parties for 
and against the home government were crystallizing 
into unmistakable antagonisms. Moderation of expres- 
sion is not a common characteristic among the more im- 
pulsive peoples of a new country. Peaceful appeals 
are illy received when once a sense of wrong has gained 
headway in such communities as constitute the towns 
and settlements of a colony. Especially is this true 
where a distinct wrong is being persistently enforced, 
and so, even here on the coast, where conservatism had 
gained a foothold, under the dominion of the material 
interests of trade and commerce, there was growing a 
spirit of resistance, not loud-spoken, but determined and 
ominously resolute. 


16 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


CHAPTER III. 

A NEW and unanticipated situation, it will be seen, 
met Andros at the threshold of bis arrival from the old 
world, which was destined to effect many changes in 
his fortunes. He was initiated at the very inception 
into a state of public excitement and apprehension, 
which naturally diverted his mind from himself, from 
his hopes and fears concerning his own personal wel- 
fare, and led him, though young, to contemplate, seri- 
ously, the great questions which were so soon to pre- 
cipitate a desperate war between the colonies and the 
mother country. 

He was an Englishman at heart ; his prejudices, at 
first, were strongly enlisted in behalf of the English 
government; but his reason would not refuse to con- 
sider the questions at issue, and being in the midst of a 
community where both sides were being vehemently 
canvassed, and where the colonist’s side was fortunate 
in having remarkably able advocates, he listened in- 
tently to the accusations which were presented from 
their point of view, and was impressed more and more 
with the justice which seemed to belong to their cause. 
He could see that many who sided with the king and 
parliament, did so believing that their business inter- 
ests would be better served and protected by adhering 


DAUGHTERS OE THE REVOLUTION. 

to the royal standard. A passionate conviction, bear- 
ing upon the wrongs against the Colonists, seized the 
public mind and made their cause overwhelmingly 
popular. On the one hand was the pride of power, on 
the other a protest in the name of freedom. 

Resistance to tyranny became the watchword of the 
Continentals. Day by day the slow mails came from 
the several provinces, remote and near, bringing the 
tidings of a rapidly spreading determination in behalf 
of resistance. How strange this all seemed to young 
Andros. The uprising, the excitement, the growing 
war fever startled and aroused him. K made him 
feel a certain kinship with men whom he did not know. 
It eliminated self from his mind. His young blood 
throbbed with unwonted pulsations of new-born 
loyalty. What did it mean to him that he was so sud- 
denly projected into the midst of this great controversy? 
What were the consequnces to be, of this radical change 
from the anticipations which, for months, he had enter- 
tained? He was not old enough, nor sufficiently hard- 
ened, to deliberately consider either his own ambitions 
or his self-interests in the event of war, to seriously 
balance the chances as to which side would serve him 
the more advantageously if the crisis of battle should 
come. There is something in war, if it be a war in 
which the conscience is deeply appealed to, which 
sweeps aside selfish aspirations and enlists the heart; 
it is like fire, it purifies. Cruel though it be, men are 
transformed by the sacredness of the conflict, and even 
the wayfaring man who solemnly pledges his life, as 
a soldier in the cause, becomes a hero. 


1 $ 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


He is exalted to the position of a consecrated martyr, 
and is held up to the army of stay-at-homes as a 
sainted patriot. War indeed has its terrors, from which 
men shrink with instinctive dread; but once it is 
decreed, it appeals to the passion of self-immolation, 
and stamps with withering scorn the coAvard and the 
sluggard. The Colonists had not yet reached this ex- 
treme consecration — this idealization of the common- 
place; but the kindling flame was preparing the way 
for an inextinguishable fervor. 

Our hero, as the months passed, was not idle on his 
own behalf. He bad borne himself without reproach 
among those with whom he had made acquaintance, 
and in various ways won their esteem. His uncle’s 
name (Sir Charles Andros) was known in the councils 
of the governor of the province, and although Andros 
shrank from claiming especial recognition on this ac- 
count, be had formed relations which brought him un- 
der the observation of a number of the leading cunsel- 
ors of both sides. For a time he stood aloof from the 
absorbing partisan and political turmoil, and found 
occupation and modest profits in the pursuit of bis 
profession as a surveyor and civil engineer. Nor was 
he idle in the exercise of his skill, in a tentative way, 
as an architect, in which calling be possessed ready 
resources, well adapted to the community in which be 
resided, for planning new residences, both in the town 
and in the surrounding country, even as far up as 
Greenwich Village, which Avas quite remote from the 
limits of the town’s growth. But these peaceful occu- 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 

pations were destined to be of brief duration. Moment- 
ous events awaited, which should call forth young men 
and old, wherein all other arts should wait upon the 
more imminent and cruel art of war through seven long 
years of bloodshed and privations. 


$0 


daughters of the revolution. 


CHAPTER IV. 

In his several occupations young Andros saw many 
new faces, and soon gained a desirable position both 
socially and professionally. As yet he had not met 
with his old-time acquaintance, Fairfax, though he had 
ascertained that he was engaged in the foreign shipping 
traffic, which involved the interchange of the products 
of the provinces with the necessary supplies from 
England, a traffic which had for a long time been prof- 
itably conducted both by the Dutch and English. 

Not long after our young friend had become settled 
in his new home, he became acquainted with the 
governor-general of the province, whose commodious 
residence was within the Battery’s fortified enclosure, 
at the extreme end of Manhattan Island. The 
governor’s mansion was of the old colonial type of 
architecture, old then as now, built on an ample scale 
and suggestive of generous comfort. A broad veranda 
overhung the grounds which were quite extensive be- 
tween the house and the fortifications. The hall, as 
one entered the door, indicated hospitality, while the 
massive mahogany furnishings and the wide, heavy 
folding doors of the same material, leading into the 
reception and drawing rooms on either side, when 
opened, revealed spacious, even luxurious apartments, 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


21 


stretching far back, exposing interiors ladened 
with evidences of wealth and tasteful elegance. 
The interiors of notable modern houses may give 
indications of greater elaboration, exhibiting a 
wider range of travel, in the collections of curios 
adorning them, but this old colonial mansion of the 
seventeenth century architecture, and representing in 
its appointments the best social civilization of the eigh- 
teenth century in these colonies, had an attraction in its 
dignity and unpretentious style which indicated culti- 
vation and refinement of no mean order. What his- 
toric associations centered about this old mansion! 
What famous social gatherings might be recounted as 
having taken place in these quaintly grand rooms! 
Time and again had congregated here many personages 
whose names were celebrated in historic records. Once 
and again Andros had been especially favored by the 
host. His gentle breeding, his family connection, and 
certain natural gifts in social refinement gave a pecu- 
liar attractiveness to his personality. Both young and 
old of the fair sex received him with a distinguished 
courtesy. There was a stately, yet picturesque grace 
and poise in the social etiquette practiced by the ladies 
and gentry of those olden times. Public functionaries, 
representing the royal person and prerogatives, felt that 
the honor conferred upon them should be borne with 
dignity and exhibited in social and official functions 
with all the show of princely bearing. They stood for 
the king and court, and in their formal public cere- 
monies they were punctiliously and uniformly polite in 


22 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


deportment. Perhaps we owe more than we are will- 
ing to acknowledge to these times, in the fine manners 
which our ancestors religiously exacted in their social 
intercourse. 

Our young hero, brought frequently into association 
with the rougher elements of the new world, in his 
daily duties, felt the charm of these formal, yet de- 
lightful public receptions, and he studiously sought to 
preserve a deportment in keeping with his earlier, old 
world life, as a tribute to the beauty and refining influ- 
ence which these occasions exhibited. Indeed, he was 
no more nor less than human, and brought as he was 
into frequent and happy relations with the young 
maidens of this small, provincial metropolis, he found 
it a comparatively easy and agreeable pastime to enlist 
their cordial sympathies in matters bearing on the 
social side of life, as well as those relating to political 
and civil affairs. 

There was quite a large number of young ladies and 
gentlemen belonging to the coterie which made up the 
circle of polite society in the town, and among these he 
was cordially welcomed. 

One evening, in the late spring, when the wild 
breezes from the harbor fanned the warm cheeks of 
those gathered at the open windows of the governor’s 
mansion, during one of the formal receptions, a young 
lady stood on one of the balconies of the mansion, lean- 
ing on the arm of a young man. The scene before 
them was peculiarly charming; the full moon was 
shedding its soft light over the restless waters of the Bat- 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


23 


tery harbor, silvering the billowy waves with its efful- 
gence, and making a glistening pathway over its wide 
field of ever-changing surface. The rays of the moon, 
weird in their effect, fell upon the Battery Park, caus- 
ing contrasting shadows to lurk beneath the foliage in 
the garden enclosure, breaking the wide expanse into 
undulations of light and shade. It was a fit time for 
the exprassion of poetic sentiments, and the two per- 
sons lingering there were in the mood of indulging in 
them. They had met but casually before, and were, 
therefore, under a certain natural constraint in their 
present intercourse; yet the influence of the scene, in 
its appeal to the imagination, made interchange of 
thoughts and confidences easy. 

The poetic feeling is so shy and delicate, yet so re- 
sponsively communicative, that but few words are 
needed between kindred spirits to stir finely keyed 
natures with sympathetic emotions while under the 
spell of its witchery. Andros was the first one to break 
the silence (for the young man was none other than he), 
“I shall always cherish the memory of my ocean voy- 
age to this country,” he said, “the novelty and beauty 
of the nights on the water, rest like a benediction in 
my thoughts. I recall with delight the long evenings 
I spent on the deck of the little vessel, sitting or pacing 
alone, watching the stars, or, when the moon shone, 
entranced in gazing into the vast sea of waters which 
was transfused into molten silver by the mellowing 
radiance. A great waste of ocean, interminable, as it 
appears t:) the eyo^ wirh eq land and no object to break 


u 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


the circle of the horizon, fills the mind with awe. The 
sense of loneliness is dissipated in the grandeur and 
magnitude of the vision, and one is impelled to realize 
his own insignificance in the presence of such an infin- 
ite expanse of beauty and power. Do you remember,” 
he added, “ever witnessing a scene of this character 
under similar conditions. Miss Carroll?” 

The young lady at his side, who was none other than 
the daughter of the host, replied to his enthusiasm with 
reciprocal feeling, adding expressions of pleasure at 
meeting one who so happily reflected her own experi- 
ence in her long journey from England, “Nothing,” 
she said, “obtains such a mastery over me as an ocean 
scene such as you have described, unless it is a chorus 
of song, where a vast multitude of voices join in swell- 
ing the great volume of sound which so enthralls with 
the grandeur of its mighty harmony.” 

The fascination of the young lady’s speech and 
imagery was added to that of a face which, in repose, 
was almost grave in expression, but when animated by 
the emotions and impulses of thought, 'was full of 
energy and beauty. Miss Carroll was in her twentieth 
year, but she was often regarded as older because of the 
exceptional maturity which marked her manner and 
informed her mind. She was quite different from most 
of the maidens within the quaint yet notable circle in 
which she was one of the most marked. Many a 
young man had yielded to her native superiority of 
grace and character, and had entertained hopes which 
he knew were not likely to be realized. Her dark, 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


25 


wavy hair formed the setting of a face noble in contour, 
with features strong, yet finely formed. There was 
delicacy of expression in her language when she spoke, 
and a refinement in her mobile mouth which at once 
revealed a nature proud yet sympathetic, happy, yet 
capable of deep thought and feeling. 

She had lost her mother when only fifteen, but the 
memory of her purity and beauty was cherished by the 
daughter with a devotion and warmth which indexed 
her own character. 

We feel the presence of a superior nature not always 
by the words uttered, nor the manner, nor by the bear- 
ing before others, but chiefly by sympathy, when we 
can, ourselves, touch the spring that opens the door to 
the inner life of such a one. Miss Carroll had spent 
the greater part of her life in England. Her father 
had left his farail}^ in the mother country when first 
he ventured to the new world, only sending for his 
household after his appointment as governor of the prov- 
ince, which was, alas, after Charlotte had been left 
motherless. A light nature meets a great affliction vio- 
lently, but is soon soothed and comforted. With Char- 
lotte the loss of her mother had influenced in her a 
calmness and conscientiousness inherited from the lat- 
ter’s spiritual and moral energy. 

The father, a personage of high station, and some- 
what proud of his honors, wearing them with becoming 
dignity, looked upon his daughter as the one precious 
gift of the gods. She had taken charge of the executive 
mansion for nearly two years, and bore the honor of 


26 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


hostess with exceptional grace and spirit. The father 
had fondly entertained the thought of her union in 
marriage with a young nobleman, a son of Lord 
Southern, who had, with his father, on more than one 
occasion, been entertained at the governor’s house, and 
who had openly indicated, in marked ways, his par- 
tiality for the daughter. Yet, thus far, the governor 
had refrained from expressing his preference to his 
daughter, for though obedient as she had always been 
to his lightest commands, he had observed that when- 
ever the question of a matrimonial alliance was touched 
upon, as it often would be, she did not hesitate to 
avow, rather tenaciously the father thought, that the 
supreme motive governing such unions should always 
be identified with the mutual presence of unquestioned 
devotion and love. Her life in the provinces bad given 
her an independence of thought and sentiment in this 
particular, which she might not have entertained as 
strongly had she continued her residence in England, 
but her father nevertheless, held to the authority of a 
father, and had resolved in his own mind, if possible, 
that the union which he contemplated, should some 
day be realized. 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


27 


CHAPTER V. 

The breach betweeD the mother country and the 
colonies was widening. Pride on the one hand, and a 
growing conviction of wrong inflicted, on the other, 
raised a barrier which could only be removed by the 
abandonment of the unjust and arbitrary policy insisted 
upon by the former. Only those who, by doing so, 
found profit or political favor, or those who were too 
timid to demand redress, adhered to the Royalist side : 
these embraced nearly all titled place-holders under 
the king, and included most of the more ambitious and 
aristocratic tradesmen and members of society in the 
seacoast towns who hoped for preferment. But when 
the conviction of a great injustice done, or contem- 
plated, seizes the public mind, the movement for right- 
ing the wrongs becomes irresistible among a self-reliant 
people accustomed to thinking and feeling. These 
wrongs, so well known in history, were not long in en- 
listing, on the one side or the other, nearly every person 
in the provinces. 

Andros, after spending many anxious days and 
nights studying the great questions involved in this 
controversy, had at last espoused the cause of the Colon- 
ists. He joined a society called “The Sons of 
Liberty^” recently organized in the town. The object 


28 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


of this organization was to promote the interests of in- 
dependence. Its members constituted an advance 
guard "m preparation for the coming conflict, and 
secretly did everything possible to foster the new issues 
in anticipation of the struggle. 

The governor of the province at this juncture, exer- 
cised his great influence to secure the enlistment and 
co-operation of all whom he could reach, and especially 
of the young men, in behalf of the royal authority. 

He knew that young Andros had shown an unmis- 
takable partiality for his daughter, but assumed that 
like other similar episodes, this attachment would prove 
futile; he assured himself, without caking trouble to 
inquire, that his daughter entertained no reciprcx^al 
feelings for the young man so recently come to the 
colonies. Yet he liked the general bearing and char- 
acter of Andros, and at last took pains to invite him to 
join his military staff. When, in reply to this invitation, 
there came to the governor, from the young man, a 
frank avowal of the latter’s stand taken for the colonies, 
the proud official, stung by the refusal, resented, as he 
termed it, “the deserter’s presumption,” and forbade 
him all further social relations at the executive man- 
sion. 

It was at this point that the governor’s daughter un- 
consciously betrayed to her father the sentiments which 
she held toward young Andros, sentiments which, un- 
til this crisis occurred, were scarcely acknowledged by 
herself. She did not confess them in words, but in the 
moment of her disappointment^ coming without fore- 


daucxHters of the revolution. 2 ^ 

warning, she unintentionally disclosed the secret. 
Andros, until now, had hardly confessed to himself the 
truth of his love for Charlotte Carroll. Love is like 
strong wine, so subtle, so seductive, that its effect 
steals into the life unaware; its intoxicating influence 
gains mastery without warning, forcing the heart to 
surrender. Even so it was in the cases of these two 
young lovers, who until now, scarcely realized, them- 
selves, the strength and fervor of the attachment. A 
grave ordeal presented itself to the mind of Andros 
when first he met the crisis between Governor Carroll 
and duty. He felt how timid he was. A conflict 
which now charged him W’ith tumultuous feelings, had 
entered into his soul. He had pledged his hand and 
sword in the cause of liberty, when suddenly, bis patri- 
otic devotion, his aspirations, his pledge were shaken 
to their foundations by this all-powerful motive tempt- 
ing him to abandon his convictions. There are occa- 
sions in the life of every noble, sincere nature, when 
great faith sinks to doubt; when great resolves are con- 
fronted and disturbed by great desires and temptations; 
when the heart, even, whispers to the conscience to yield 
to its wish and abandon its cause. True love does not 
demand this, but the fear that one may lose the heart’s 
dearest object, often makes the man waver. 

In the moment of Governor Carroll’s implacable 
antagonism, Andros had halted, trembling. “I can 
lose anything but my love,” he w^ould say. But love 
never demands a dishonoring sacrifice. For the time 
all was dark with him; there seemed to be an alterna- 


30 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


tiv0 presented, which if he yielded to its allurement, 
would prove fatal to his manhood. Night after night 
he sat alone in his chamber charged with the burden 
and bitterness of a great issue pressing upon his con- 
science. He rehearsed to himself his newly found joy, 
a joy so imperious that he felt his strength shrink and 
falter before it. He forecast in his mind the supreme 
imminence of the coming struggle, and the high obli- 
gations which devolved upon him as a patriot and a 
defender of the right. This only enhanced the diflScul- 
ties in his personal career. Abandon this cause? Nay, 
he could never be guilty of such treachery. Abandon 
his new-found love? This, too, was impossible; and 
yet he could not, as yet, see the course to pursue. It 
was too early for him to realize that but one way was 
open, and that way was, to do the one thing which 
alone his convictions would approve, which his honor 
would permit, trusting in the eternal law of right for 
the final issue. Confused and troubled as he was, it is 
not strange that for the moment all the conditions 
seemed dark and hopeless to reconcile. On the one 
hand stood the father, stern, haughty and forbidding; 
in whose keeping rested the destiny of her on whom his 
deep affections were fixed; and yet against this father’s 
will, conscience and sacred honor were pitted, courage 
and manliness perpetually entering their protest, while, 
he conjectured, the logical result of his course would 
brand him in the minds of both father and daughter, as 
a rebel and traitor to his king. 

In one less sensitive to the dictates of truth and duty, 


Daughters of the revolution. 


81 


as these appeared to him, the position would have its 
relief; the seductions both of love and ambition would 
tempt to a surrender in favor of the easier terms held 
out, but with a true and noble manhood, honor and 
conscience are sovereigns in command; all else, by 
right, submit to these. Though forbidden the privilege 
of communicating, even formally, with the object of 
his affections, he felt the overmastering impulse to 
gain from her own lips a knowledge of her sentiments 
toward him. To obtain a private interview seemed the 
only way of accomplishing this. How could he secure 
this coveted opportunity? In the first intimations of 
serious public disturbance, the governor had provided 
an extra guard for the executive mansion. 

The agitated condition of the public mind admon- 
ished him, though he was a brave man, that his obliga- 
tion to the office which he filled demanded these precau- 
tions. The situation of the mansion within the lines of 
the fortification made secret access difficult. The 
grounds surrounding the mansion, however, were large 
and shaded with ample foliage. Young Andros ques- 
tioned whether he could convey word to the young mis- 
tress of his desire to see her. Would she be disposed 
to grant his wish? He simply had faith that she 
would not be indifferent to him, but he had no definite 
knowledge of her state of mind or heart. 

Intuitions are perilous guides and frequently lead to 
lamentable errors, yet his necessity knew no law; his 
mind was tortured with a doubt which must be solved. 
The question of right or wrong haunted him as he con- 


^'2 ^ DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


templated this new plan for meeting Miss Carroll; but 
in love, as in war, all ways are fair, or if not, in his 
perplexity, he agreed that they were; at any rate, he 
must seek her, and hear from her own lips the verdict; 
would she deny him this? If she loved him, would she 
regard his convictions concerning the colonies and their 
cause, and the active participation which these convic- 
tions imposed, as an insurmountable barrier to the be- 
stowment of her affections? These questions must be 
solved at all hazards; he could not live another day 
without knowing his fate. In this state of mind, hop- 
ing, yet dreading, plagued by a suspense that he could 
not brook, he undertook to devise some plan by which 
he might accomplish his end, even though it must be 
by a stolen interview. 



DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


33 


CHAPTER VI. 

On the day follovviDg the evening in which we found 
Andros in his room alone, it devolved upon the governor 
to be present at a general annual review of the mili- 
tary forces stationed in different localities in and about 
the town. A parade ground overlooking the North 
River had, for some years, been devoted to this object, 
and it became important, in the present unsettled state 
of colonial affairs, to especially promote this general 
muster of a part of the provincial military forces. 

The occasion was one which gave a holiday to the 
business and labor of the town, and the muster field 
was a great rendezvous for men women and children. 
The drills, marches and sham battles which were part 
of the program for the day, involved many hours of 
military display, and not infrequently lasted until after 
nightfall. 

Through one of the governor’s bodyguard, Andros 
had ascertained that owing to indisposition pleaded 
by Miss Carroll, her father had consented to her absence 
from the public function of the day, and that she 
would remain at home. Watching for an opportunit}^ 
when most of the guard of Fort George (the name of 
the Battery fortifications) were absent on holiday duty, 
young Andros succeeded in gaining admission, unob- 


34 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


served, within the walls of the defense. He hastened to 
present himself at the portal of the governor’s private 
grounds; there he found the unguarded, though closed 
gate, unbolted. Glancing through an aperture in the 
high fence of the grounds, he saw at a short distance 
from the rear entrance to tlio mansion, the one for 
whom he had come in search. Fortune seemed to favor 
him thus far; but as often happens with one on such 
occasions, when everything seemed most propitious, 
he felt an unaccountable shrinking, a sudden abandon- 
ment of strength and presence of mind in the face of an 
opportunity which he believed would at last determine 
the crisis of his fate. How could he who was wholly 
ignorant of the state of the young lady’s mind and 
heart, boldly confront her with a confession of his love, 
while she was totally unwarned of his coming and his 
mission? Why had he not taken some way of appris- 
ing her of his desire to meet her? She might, startled 
at his bold invasion, call- for help, and in her timidity 
and fright, expose him to capture and detention. He 
was not a coward, but he would rather enter the fort 
at the point of the bayonet, or in the face of death, than 
be thus guiltily entrapped and placed at the mercy of 
an offended father who had forbidden his presence 
there. Yet when be thought of retreating, a certain 
humiliation possessed him. No, he would brave the 
danger, if danger there was, and know the worst. 
Stealthily he stole again to the door of the inclosure; 
with the utmost care he turned it on its hinge and 
passed into the garden. His entrance was unperceived; 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


35 


the foliage and shrubbery formed a veil of protection 
between him and the young mistress, who was quite 
distant from the entrance. As he peered through the 
opening he could see her reposing in a garden chair, and 
(was it a fancy of his, or was it real?) she seemed to be 
gazing, with a mind distraught, away from the book 
which lay open before her, to the blossoming beds of 
laurel and honeysuckle on the other side of the walk. 
Her head rested on her hand, and he conjectured, or 
imagined, that he both heard and saw her sigh and 
utter words of lament, which, as they escaped from her 
lips, agitated her bosom. No one was present with her ; 
a dreamy solitude pervaded the place; the declining 
sun gave a tinge of soft color to the sky, which shed its 
subduing reflections over the scene. How beautiful 
was she in the light and shade of the departing day ! 
Why disturb her? He watched her longingly, intently, 
as she rested there in her loneliness and beauty, and 
saw the fleeting emotions, reflected from her thought, 
come and go, giving an inexpressible charm to her soft 
eyes and mobile face, a tenderness and softness which, 
any moment, might be changed into flashes of scorn, or 
keen, discerning glances, on occasion. Miss Carroll, at 
this period, was ripening into a maturity of form, and a 
perfection of beauty which gave to her both womanly 
dignity and grace. Andros seemed riveted to the spot; 
it was not to be wondered at that she had attracted so 
many would-be suitors who one after the other had 
looked upon her purity and her gentle, yet strong face, 
vainly hoping to secure her favor; but she was one who 


36 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


clung to her ideal. She never had presumed on her 
heauty to act the part of a coquette. The example and 
lessons of a sainted mother were engraved deeply on 
her heart, and the nobleness and single heartedness of 
the mother’s life had fixed indelibly in the daughter’s 
soul the supreme necessity of a sacred, consecrated 
love. 

A true passion is such an abiding thing; so linked 
with the destiny of a human heart, that to trifle with 
it, to violate or lower its exalted standard, would have 
been to her a source of enduring remorse. She had 
brooded over the thought, had entertained and cherished 
it during the years of her comparative seclusion in this 
provincial life, until it had become an integral part of 
her religion, upon which she meditated, and about 
which she offered up her secret petitions as sweetly and 
innocently as she prayed for daily care and protection. 

She was not a Puritan, but she had caught some of 
the loftier and happier attributes of the Puritan spirit 
as she had come into intercourse with family kindred 
who dwelt in the eastern provinces, and had further 
learned to consult her own conscience on all questions 
concerning her personal relations and duties. These 
scruples and convictions found a ripe soil in the excep- 
tional purity and loftiness of her character. 

She sat in the garden wrapt in her thoughts, in which 
had entered this question of love, about which, at this 
very moment, she was deeply and sadly perplexed. 
She knew of her father’s matrimonial preference for 
her, and yet, think as she would, she could not accept 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


37 


his choice as her guide. With no one of her own sex 
to consult, self-dependent and self-absorbed, she was 
trying in vain to reconcile the dictates of her heart 
with the often expressed desire of her kind, indulgent, 
yet determined father. It would not have been possible 
for her, at this time, to deliberately antagonize him in 
his wishes. 

Strong in will though she was, she shrank from doing 
anything which would seem willfully disobedient. 
She entertained the pride of her family, and would not 
compromise her name or violate the dictates of true 
modesty and discretion, by bringing to her father’s 
home a scandal which would humiliate his dignity, or 
alienate his devotion. 

It will be clearly discerned by this brief outline of 
Charlotte Carroll’s character that young Andros, in 
undertaking his present mission, had no easy task be- 
fore him. It would seem he instinctivelj^ foresaw this 
as he hesitated, doubtingly and apprehensively, now 
that he had gained access to the garden on this eventful 
day. 

Why, and for what, was he there? Like so many 
ardent and adventurous devotees, he had bestowed all 
his thought on the object of his love, but had scarcely 
given a moment’s reflection to the weighty persuasion 
which would be necessary even in the event of her recip- 
rocation of his avowal, to win from her a pledge which 
should create a great barrier between herself and her 
father. 

As she sat there in seclusion, she fancied that she 


38 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


heard a rustling of the shrubbery some distance from 
her retreat, and turning in the direction from which the 
sound appeared to come, her glance suddenly caught 
sight of an apparent stranger. 

She would have uttered a cry, but he, seeing her dis- 
covery, though rightly conjecturing that she did not 
recognize him, dispelled her doubts by frankly acknowl- 
edging his identity. The expresson of her face quickly 
changed from one of alarm to surprise, and when she 
fully realized who was before her, the color came and 
went in violent fluctuations, which at first, left her con- 
fused and disconcerted. 

Regaining at last control over her agitation, she 
spoke his name and hospitably bade him be seated. 
Yet even in the presence of her courtesy, he felt 
strangely embarrassed, as if he had been detected in 
doing some forbidden thing; her gaze seemed to ask the 
question which her lips refrained from uttering: 
“Wherefore his stolen visit there in disregard of her 
father’s commands?’ ’ W ith this feeling he saluted her, 
kissing her hand after the custom of the times, but still 
remained standing, hesitating what course next to 
pursue. 

At last she broke the silence: “To what purpose am 
I indebted for this visit?” she asked. “Surely, Mr. 
Andros, since it is my father’s expressed wish that you 
should no longer maintain social relations at the man- 
sion, you must find some urgent call which could impel 
you to disregard his request?” Such words from one 
so tenderly cherished in his thoughts, words which at 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


39 


once questioned his honor and humiliated him, had, as 
they often will, the directly opposite influence upon his 
mind from that intended hy the questioner. 

When pride meets pride the natural dignity of one’s 
nature is called into requisition, and the instant pres- 
ence of this trait at once came to his relief : “Miss Car- 
roll,” he replied, “I am aware that your father looks 
upon me with stern displeasure, not, I apprehend, from 
any personal dislike to me, but because my conscience 
and convictions have led me to embrace the cause of the 
colonies in the grave questions under dispute between 
them and the royal government. Maj^ I ask whether 
you, also, share in your father’s condemnation of me? 
And whether it is your choice that I should henceforth 
absent myself wholly from your presence?” 

The grace and bearing of Andros, as he made this 
reply to the young lady’s question, was not without its 
effect upon a mind which already felt his influence; for 
while Miss Carroll bore theresponsibility of her father's 
house in his absence, and would do nothing, nor permit 
anything, which should lower his influence or author- 
ity, she knew her father’s weaknesses, and was not 
disposed in the present instance, to give them full 
recognition, especially, since, in her own secret heart, 
a genuinely responsive sympathy for Andros had pre- 
cedence. 

Yet she saw the wisdom of a guarded reply, and of 
her need to be guided in her conversation by this wis- 
dom, even though the case involved her own destiny 
and happiness. “ Whether I share my father’s wish or 


40 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


not, surely you would not have me disregard his com- 
mand in his own house?” she asked. 

The qualification which she implied concerning her 
own state of mind, in thus answering the intruder’s 
question lessened the doubt which had troubled him in 
relation to her personal attitude. He could not take 
exception to her position as a loyal daughter, especially 
as no word of love had ever passed between himself 
and her, still he would test her wish if possible. 

“Pardon me,” he replied, “I must, then, interpret 
your obedience to your father’s will as leaving no dis- 
cretion for me but to at once withdraw from your pres- 
ence.” To this rejoinder she did not hesitate: 

“Not, I hope, without returning a response to my 
first question, Mr. Andros — the purpose of your visit? 
I would not for a moment wish to unjustly impeach 
you in my own thought. Pray be seated.” 

A ray of hope was thus communicated to him. At 
least he was bidden to remain ; and would he dare lay 
bare the motive which had challenged him to this ven- 
ture? He who had never received one sign of encour- 
agement from this young lady now waiting for his ex- 
planation. 

How should he introduce the supreme object of his 
visit? He had planned a very elaborate formula of 
words before the advent of this crisis, but now that it 
was upon him, every expression so carefully arranged 
had vanished from his mind; it seemed as if speech 
itself was denied him; his tongue seemed paralyzed. 

At a moment so momentous, he appeared powerless 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


41 


to cope with the issue; but only for a moment. The 
necessity of breaking silence became imperative. 

“I cannot offer to you any justifying reason for this 
act of trespass,” he said. “Miss Carroll, it is not by 
force of reasoning that I shall seek to palliate this in- 
trusion. I have been irresistibly drawn here; it was 
in vain that my judgment resisted the step; do we not 
realize at times that there is a potence stronger than 
reason which impels our acts? If I had considered 
calmly the obstacles which separate me from you, and 
which seem to my rational thoughts insurmountable, I 
should have shrunk in despair from attempting this 
present interview. I am here to-night under the 
supreme impulse of a passion which has taken posses- 
sion of my life. I will not leave you in suspense 
longer, though my cause be desperate. A love which I 
would not master if I could, and which I could not if I 
would, has left me no alternative but confession. Miss 
Carroll, I love you. To say this to you now, hopeless 
though its deelaration may be, I have dared to venture 
here to-night. I am grievously conscious of the gulf 
which separates us, but such devotion as I bear for you, 
pure and true, is not afraid to declare itself though you 
were queen. Were the present conditions which deny 
us intercourse less exacting, I could, perhaps, have 
brooked delay in this declaration; but the growing 
differences which are agitating our political life here, 
foreshadow events which may rudely sever ties of 
affiliation, as they have already done in our cases. I 
could not bear the thought of such severance, without 


42 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


one last attempt to confess my inmost heart to yon. 
Come what may, be it life or death, war, poverty, de- 
vastation, and all the ills which these entail, nothing 
can change the deep attachment which, from this time, 
must dominate my life. Could it be possible that you 
have it in your heart to reciprocate my love, though I 
see the obstacles that lie betweeen us, I would pray and 
hope, and believe, desperate though it may seem, that 
some day our lives would be one; but I forget. 1 have 
no reason to entertain such hopes, yet I beseech you. 
Miss Carroll, for one word of comfort, of encourage- 
ment, and I will brave all disasters and surmount all 
perils in the anticipation of this evenful happiness.” 

Andros’ ardor had impelled him to make this one 
impulsive leap in the dark, in spite of every self- 
admonition of prudence or reason. Love has an irre- 
sistible power that breaks away every barrier, once its 
floodgates are opened. When at last he paused, the 
suspense which seized him was charged with an inten- 
sity of feeling which he could not conceal. He gazed 
with all the longing ardor of his soul upon the face and 
into the eyes of the young lady before him; he saw the 
color come and go in her face; he could but observe the 
conflict taking place in her mind as she sought to check 
words that were struggling for utterance. 

Hers was not a weak nature; she had long since 
learned to deny herself, to control her impulses. Sor- 
row, and the weighty responsibilities of a great bouse 
had disciplined and trained her to a reserve not com- 
mon in young lives; all the exigencies of her experience 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


43 


as well as the adverse conditions which must from this 
time challenge her, rose up to direct and counsel her 
response to the declaration of her noble-minded lover. 

She had felt, it is true, in her earlier interviews with 
Andros, emotions which she had not dared to analyze, 
when on previous occasions, she had met this young 
lover at her home; and now the loyalty to conscience, 
the obedience to his deep convictions to which he had 
submitted, in his alliance with a cause which must 
prove so formidable a barrier between them, only served 
to confirm in her own mind, the lofty honor and integ- 
rity at the foundation of his nature. 

Though he confessedly and devotedly loved her, yet 
he had espoused a cause at the command of his convic- 
tions which must imperil the dearest hope of his life. 
Such an act indicates strength of character, firmness of 
faith, loyalty of soul, which, in any relation of life, 
would withstand the severest test of circumstances and 
conditions. 

Honor, to be honor, must shine forth in every vicis- 
situde, and in every trait; it is an attribute which, if 
present at all, is present in all. Miss Carroll was the 
one in a thousand who could estimate this quality at its 
true value. She saw the cross which he had taken up 
for conscience’ sake, which must, so far as could be 
seen, not only cast a shadow over his future advance- 
ment, but be an ever-present obstacle between himself 
and his attachment for her; yet, he could not abandon 
it. 

Convinced of the righteousness of a cause, he had 


44 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


enlisted in it, regardless of consequences, for life, and if 
need be, for death. 

She could but contrast bis nature with other natures, 
with which she had come into relation from time to 
time; she saw the difference between the outward title 
which conferred station and honors, and the inward 
signet of true nobility. Yet with all this passing ^ 
through her mind, enlisting her sympathy, she was 
bound by her ties of filial devotion and of loyalty 
to her father’s station, to resist the avowal from a 
lover whose whole character responded to her ideal of 
excellence and merit. She was by birth, education and 
tradition, a lojal adherent to the mother country 
against the claims of the colonies. Yet, in truth, in 
spite of his attitude, she knew that she loved this brave 
young partisan of the people. 

Here, then, was material for a tragedy which had 
found birth in her heart, and which, henceforth, must 
become an absorbing reality in her life. 

“Mr. Andros,” she at last replied, “do not believe 
that I can listen to 3^our frank avowal unaffected ; do 
not think so hardly of me as to deny me the possession 
of a womanly insight that can recognize the qualities of 
unselfishness which your recent manly course has re- 
vealed in your character. Pray do not charge me with 
lack of feeling or generosity, when I say that, whatever 
m}^ sentiments, I must refrain from all expression save 
this one, the bond you plead for is hopeless of fulfill- 
ment; there are conditions in life whieh are stronger 
than human wills and human attachraeots. Your con- 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


45 


fession invites misery; can we not part with the faith, 
even though a despairing one, that happier days will 
come, though it must be in separation, when we may 
both be reconciled; which shall teach us that love re- 
nounced, when it can never be realized, is wiser and 
better than a passion vainly cherished? Do you not see 
that we must live apart? That the conditions which 
separate us are enduring, and that they cannot be 
overcome?’’ 

Again, in this reply also, he thought he saw written 
in her heart the secret of a reciprocal passion, and this 
discovery thrilled and inspired him with fresh faith and 
courage, mingled though they were with bitter antici- 
pations of disappointment. He felt how noble was the 
nature he was contending with, now that he assured 
himself she too loved as he loved. 

He divined the struggle within her, and he saw, too, 
the victory in her heart and conscience. She loved, yet 
she must even now renounce her love. “Could such 
love be true?” he asked. At first he wavered and 
doubted. “If she loved me she would abandon all and 
cleave to me alone; then, indeed, I must not attempt to 
force my affections on one so ready to renounce her 
own.” 

He arose, his face and bearing impressive in their 
silent dignity and spirit; impressive as they revealed, 
unconsciously, the pride and manliness of a noble soul 
at bay. 

“Miss Carroll,” he said, “we shall some day meet 


40 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


again; when, or where, I cannot tell; until then I hid 
you farewell. May your life be a happy one.” 

Before she could realize the fact, he had noiselessly 
retreated to the garden gate, opened it and passed out 
of the inclosure. 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


47 ' 


CHAPTER VII. 

The self-restraint which Charlotte Carroll had exer- 
cised during this interview, had saved her from making 
any responsive committal to the ardent confession of 
young Andros; but now that he had departed so 
abruptly, and the excitement of the occasion had 
passed, a reaction, which left her distracted and heart- 
sore, ensued. 

She stole up to her own rooms shaken in mind and 
spirit. Taken thus unprepared, forced to command her 
faculties against her natural impulses without a 
moment’s preparation, her powers were taxed to their 
utmost strength. Once secure in the privacy of her 
own apartment, she lost control of herself, and yielded 
to the blessed solvent of tears. 

Fortunately that interview- with Andros was without 
witnesses and conscious as she was that she had borne 
herself with loyalty and rectitude as they concerned her 
relations with her father, she inwardly, fondly resolved 
that no one should ever know the supreme sacrifice 
she had made. She could not, nor had she any heart to 
blame her lover for the course he had thus pursued. It 
was inevitable that he should wish to know his fate, by 
ascertaining the nature of her sentiments toward him ; 
and while she had bravely resisted any direct expression 


4S DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 

of these, she was inwardly convinced that he had 
divined the real state of her heart beneath all disguises, 
and knew that she loved him. With this conviction, 
she also believed that he had correctly interpreted her 
motives in withholding any direct betrayal of this love. 
She sincerely felt, so far as she could penetrate the 
future, that love between herself and him must prove 
fruitless of realization. She could not see, in the dark- 
ness enveloping the situation, how any light could come 
to dissipate the dense cloud which eclipsed her hope. 
She was, withal, cast down, because in the interview 
between them, she had refrained from confessing to 
him the truth in her own heart, when she had expressed 
herself against the possibility of their union. 

Love, when successfully baffled, is so despondent, 
that, since it often involves misery in two lives, at 
least, under any conditions however adverse, if it must 
be a secret, its secrecy should be in the double custody 
of the two hearts concerned. To imprison it where no 
relief in sympathy, can come from another, to stifle it, 
to resolve to subdue it, fills with misery the heart in 
which it lies forbidden and desolate, as it does the heart 
which is denied access to it. 

Charlotte Carroll entered' upon an experience which 
foreshadowed years of silent suffering, unrelieved by 
hope of future happiness. At first she seemed stunned. 
Suffering is so benumbing until the pain of it rallies 
and asserts its mastery. It is one of nature’s compas- 
sionate provisions, that until strength shall come to the 
defense, the blow that prostrates, priralyzes; the poig- 


daughters of the revolution. 4:0 

txaiicy is mercifully designed to be met by the will; by 
the power that can resist; until then the acuteness of 
it is held in leash. 

- Utter lassitude and a passive submission to her fate 
prepared the way for that rest which exhausted nature 
needed and demanded. The unuttered prayer went up 
from her heart : “Do what Thou wilt with me.’’ In 
this state she lost consciousness; resting on her bed, she 
fell into a dreamless, refreshing slumber. She had 
sent a message to her father that she had retired for 
the night, due to a slight indisposition, which left her 
without anxieties as to inquiries in her behalf. 

The morrov came all too soon to her troubled spirit; 
yet while it renewed the trial and strain which sleep 
had mercifully interrupted, it found her better fortified 
to contend with these. When, therefore, she met her 
father at the breakfast table, she had succeeded in dis- 
guising the effect of the crisis through which she was 
passing, save that an unusual pallor blanched her 
cheek. 

“Charlotte,” he said, “I missed you last evening; I 
trust you have recovered from your indisposition? You 
are not looking quite yourself; had you not better let 
Dr. Northrop call and prescribe for you?” 

“Ah, no, father, I am over it,” she said. “It was 
but a momentary illness, a severe headache which has 
passed with the night.” 

“Yet, child,” he answered, “prevention is best you 
know.” 

With these words the subject was dropped, and the 


50 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


father could not have guessed that his daughter’s 
malady was of the heart, too radical and too deep for 
cure. 

He continued lightly conversing on the events of the 
previous day, of the successful mustering of the troops 
and marines, which, because of the extraordinary agita- 
tion and bitterness exercising the public mind, was 
made as impressively formidable as possible. He spoke 
of the rash folly which was moving even good and 
trustworthy men to condemn the policy of the king and 
parliament in their administration of colonial affairs. 

“These hotheads and madcaps,” he exclaimed, “like 
that presumptuous young turncoat, Andros, don’t seem 
to know where their interests lie. I w’ouder that men 
with good sense in most affairs can surrender to this 
hallucination about ‘liberty,’ this cant of the common 
herd, and talk glibly about resistance to taxes and all 
that folly. Who is this John Adams, and that other 
pugnacious rebel, Sam Adams, who seem to have such 
a hold of the people in Massachusetts Bay? Let the 
home government but lift its little finger and all these 
strutting novices will beg to be forgiven.” 

“But are you so certain, father,” queried the daugh- 
• ter, “that there is not some degree of justice in the peti- 
tions of the Colonists?” 

“Zounds! girl, the Colonists would care nothing 
about it, were it not that these political demagogues, 
these Randolphs, Washingtons, Jeffersons, Hancocks, 
Lees, Shermans, and their clamorous followers are lead- 
ing the fashion of denouncing the law^s of the kingdom. 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


51 


If I had my way I would grow hemp for all of them in 
very sharp order. They will soon have reason to 
realize that the king’s patience is becoming exhausted 
by their senseless demands which they have been urging 
in one form or another for years. A few regiments of 
‘Koyal Eeds’ will put to flight the whole rabble if they 
persist in their defiance of the laws as they have been 
doing. We shall see! There is Lord Southern, the 
king’s adviser, who is in the confidence of the ministry, 
he has already prepared an exhaustive report of the 
disaffection prevailing here, and he recommends sharp 
work, advising his majesty’s government not to dally 
longer. By the way, speaking of Lord Southern, I 
mean to take his son on my staff, and Charlotte,” and 
the father lowered the tone of his voice, “the young 
man will do us the honor to call at the mansion to-mor- 
row evening; he is a young man of flattering pros- 
pects, I hope you will welcome and entertain him in a 
manner suitable to his rank and expectations. You 
know it is my wish that some day, you shall make a 
marriage alliance which shall enhance our social and 
political prestige. I hope you have the proper ambition 
to make a place for j^ourself in the nobility, my daugh- 
ter; we must advance, you know, we must advance. 
How would it sound to be called Lady Southern, to be 
a mother among the English nobility? Would not that 
be better than all these romantic notions of love, girl? 
Love, fiddle-de-de, ha, ha, what nonsense.” 

“Father,” Charlotte replied, “could you have said 
such trifling words to my own dear mother when she 


52 


DAUGHTERS OR THE REVOLUTION. 


was with us as these you have uttered to me about 
the folly of love? Do you not remember as I do (oh, 
that memory is very precious to me) of the reverence 
she always felt for pure, unselfish devotion? Could 
any being have held the bond of true love more sacredly 
than did she while living? With the memory of such 
an example ever in my heart, dear father, would you 
wish me to become a cynic; to deny the existence of 
that holy bond which should be the very soul of wedded 
life?” 

Charlotte spoke with force and feeling, and her plea 
was not without its effect ; a flush suffused her father’s 
face, and for an instant his eyes welled with tears. She 
rose from her seat at the table, and approaching his 
chair, impressed a kiss upon his forehead; his arm was 
about her in a moment, and in a low, husky tone, he 
said, “Forgive me, darling, you are right, you are right, 
who marries you must first love you, and you must love 
him.” Thus saying, he sealed his words with a kiss, 
and no more mocking of love passed his lips. 


1 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


53 


CHAPTER VIIL 

Young Lord SoiitherD, of whom the father spoke, 
was, as has been said, son and heir of the rich and in- 
fluential earl, high in political favor. The young 
heir’s life had been chiefly an idle one; gaming and 
dissipation, with sumptuous means at his disposal, had 
gone far toward working irreparable ruin to his char- 
acter. Accustomed to having whatever he coveted, and 
to indulging his wayward passions to the uttermost, 
he had become reckless and selfish to the last degree. 
Dissolute companions in scores had surrounded him, 
until life with him was made up of continual rounds of 
orgies, that would have burdened with rank discredit 
and disgrace the reputation and social status of any 
other than a nobleman’s son. 

That Governor Carroll knew the full degree of this 
young man’s moral worthlessness there was some 
doubt, yet he was not ignorant of the taint he bore; but 
ah, the glamor of title and estates ! He stood ready to 
condone all else and to consign his daughter to the 
misery of a union wTth one thus degraded, simply be- 
cause of these ; still she was very precious to him; 
dearer than any other object on earth. He was him- 
self a very clear-sighted man in other matters, nor lack- 
ing in warmth of feeling and affection, but alas, for 
the weakness of poor human nature ! 


54 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


Young Lord Southern at the appointed time on the 
following evening proceeded to make his call at the 
executive mansion. Lord Southern the elder dwelt 
in one of the fine old houses on Bowling Green, looking 
up Broadway. Much of his time was spent away from 
home, traveling through the colonies in his sumptuous 
private coach-and-four as colonial adviser of the home 
government. 

The distance was not great from Lord Southern’s 
house to the governor’s mansion, and the young heir 
had often watched with a certain coarse admiration the 
unaffectedly beautiful daughter as she rode or walked 
out almost daily from her home. That he had ever 
contemplated her seriously is a question; because he 
had never taken anything into very serious considera- 
tion. 

Life is seldom a serious question with such idlers, 
unless they run short of funds and are pressed too hard 
by creditors. All these characteristics of the young 
lord, of which we have spoken, Charlotte knew, and 
knowing these, it had long since become a constant 
study with her to avoid all unnecessary relations with 
one to whom she could not even speak without feeling 
a repulsion, as if the most casual intercourse would be 
compromising. 

The silent contempt displayed by such a nature as 
hers, while not openly offensive was not without its 
sting when directed toward a person whom she regarded 
with such a pronounced aversion as she felt toward 
young Lord Southern. It was not possible fcr her 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


5o 


nature to be rude, but a certain self-respect which she 
asserted in her association with others, impressed itself 
with marked effect upon anyone who was the repre- 
sentative or purveyor of evil. 

When, therefore, the young lord presented himself to 
her on the evening in question, she received him with 
simple courtesy, yet cool politeness, and in bearing, if 
not in words, indicated beyond question that a certain 
distance must be preserved between them in their social 
interchanges. He had not noted this disposition in her 
so markedly before, as their relations had been chiefly 
of the most general sort and in company with others; 
but now when constrained to exercise a particular hos- 
pitality toward him, she found it exceedingly difficult to 
fulfill her father’s request and yet maintain her proper 
dignity to the degree that she felt inclined to do with 
her most unwelcome guest. 

The language of the young man was not in keeping 
with his social position; his habitual dissipations had 
left their inevitable mark on his countenance, manners 
and speech; his conversation was of a character that 
failed to enlist the interest of any one possessed of re- 
fined sensibilities, but, on the contrary, was at times in 
ill taste, even coarse and vulgar, for though his breed- 
ing had been in the school of the gentleman, his low 
associations had obliterated nearly all trace of gentility. 

He was a patron of most of the questionable forms of 
diversion and of nearly all of the disreputable resorts 
of the town. These had at last produced their demor- 
alizing effect, vitiating his thoughts and sentiments, 


56 DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 

and setting up in bis life ignoble standards of conduct 
and ambition. 

Under these conditions Charlotte Carroll could not 
conceal her aversion to him as be proceeded to recount 
bis adventures. She sought, in various ways, to 
change the current of conversation to questions of gen- 
eral public interest, or to events transpiring in the 
social world. To these he turned a deaf ear, and per- 
sisted in relating exploits at the gaming table or ad- 
ventures in drinking bouts until his obtuse mind, for he 
seemed as stupid as ho was coarse, dimly divined the 
feeling of repulsion toward him in the thought of his 
hostess, and led him finally to take his departure. 

He did not do this with good grace, however, nor 
without making a secret resolution that he would have 
his revenge sometime, for what he termed her “high 
and mighty notions of propriety,” which, nevertheless, 
led him instinctively to feel his own marked inferiority 
in everything pertaining to good manners and morals. 

The governor had been present with his daughter on 
this evening of young Southern’s visit, and in listening 
to his conversation had more than once felt a tinge of 
shame for his guest at the almost unconscious vulgar- 
ity to which the latter descended in his tone and 
themes. The father, after the visitor had taken his 
leave, persistently refrained from commenting on this 
exhibition, even with the very evident hints of the 
daughter, indulged in for the purpose of eliciting his 
opinion. 

Young Southern, nevertheless, felt himself mastered 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


57 


by her superiority, and be determined, in his dogged 
manner, to lay siege to the governor’s daughter, watch 
his opportunity and press his suit for the hand of this 
proud damsel. Would she dare refuse an offer of mar- 
riage from the son and heir of an English earl? 

Southern had heard of Richard Andros, had heard 
him spoken of in the highest terms, and had also wit- 
nessed on more than one occasion the modest attentions 
he had paid to Charlotte Carroll. While Andros him- 
self had been scrupulously careful to refrain from asso- 
ciating the name of the young lady with that of bis own, 
his attentions had been noted and commented upon by 
more than one town gossip. Southern, in his wander- 
ings among the Various public resorts, had on several 
occasions listened with malignant feelings, which he 
could with difficulty control, to these current reports, 
and had vowed that if the opportunity occurred he 
would bring “that young rebel Andros to account for his 
impudent presumptions.” 

The governor, while feeling chagrined at the sorry 
figure made by the son of his friend Lord Southern, still 
clung to the wish, even w^ent so far as to entertain the 
purpose of reconciling his daughter to the attentions 
which the young man vainly sought to pay her; but to 
the father’s fond urgings as may be s jrmised, she proved 
obdurate. 

After repeated efforts to ingratiate himself in the 
good will of Charlotte Carroll, Southern at last was 
f -^rced to acknowledge the futility of his attempted ad- 
vances, and, finally, for the present at least, to abandon 


53 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


them, philosophically resting his hopes on the general 
proposition that a maiden usually changes her mind 
after indulging her wayward moods for a season, and 
accepts, with more or less good grace, the counsels of 
her betters. 

During this episode in the history of Miss Carroll’s 
life, at a point of time immediately preceding the open- 
ing of hostilities by the Revolutionists, affairs of greater 
moment were absorbing the interests and energies of 
the leaders both of the colonies and the home govern- 
ment. 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


69 


CHAPTER IX. 

The marshaling uf o} po ing forces had already pro- 
gressed from the field of discussion and argument to the 
field of open preparation for war. Several preliminary 
encounters had taken place, both in New England and 
in New York, between the Royalists and the Colonists. 
Bitterness and defiance were being rapidly engendered, 
and the time was fast approaching when the clash ings 
of physical strife would close all possible overtures. 

England was equipping a force and fleet for service 
here. The comparatively few Royalists or Tories in 
New York, were awaiting the arrival of the British 
army and navy which, they fancied, would speedily 
subdue the rebellious spirit now so aggressive. 

Young Andros had procured a position on the staff 
of General Lee, who had been placed in command of 
the military department of New York in behalf of the 
Continentals. Being an engineer, our young staff- 
officer had made himself valuable in projecting and 
superintending the construction of defensive fortifica- ' 
tions, and was especially engaged in service on Colum- 
bian Heights, Long Island, where earthworks were 
being constructed to command the entrance to the East 
River. 

It wa^ well understood by General Lee that he could 


60 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


not hold the city in the face of a determined attack by 
water, but he could make its capture and occupation 
costly for the British forces, and this he determined to 
do. 

Young Andros was more than once brought into 
official relations with Governor Carroll as bearer of 
messages from General Lee. Upon one of these occa- 
sions he was by accident brought face to face with 
Charlotte Carroll, who happened at the moment of his 
arrival to be walking in tbe grounds of the executive 
mansion. As they met, Andros, confused and in 
doubt, saluted her, when she, with kindly frankness, re- 
turned his salutation and spoke to him, calling him by 
his commissioned title of captain, asking him where 
he was then located, and how long he would remain in 
his present quarters. 

He replied, and then, with an outburst of impulsive 
feeling, pleaded for an opportunity of speaking with 
her about their personal relations, urging that, although 
he must now be separated from all their former associa- 
tions, yet, might he not be permitted to communicate 
with her by letter whenever opportunity occurred? 

To this request she sorrowfully refused her assent, 
reminding him that such communications would be sub- 
ject to the risk of interception, and might, in such case, 
lead to serious consequences. 

She expressed her belief unreservedly, contrary to 
her father’s hopes, that a great and prolonged struggle 
was pending, which would involve cruel separations 
and relentless warfare. With these words she bade 


Daughters oe the revolution. 


61 


him a reluctant adieu, reminding him that her honor, 
and the honor of her father’s office, both forbade any 
further meetings or intercourse between them. So 
these two despairing lovers parted. 

What momentous events were to transpire, and how 
changed the conditions would be, before they would 
again meet! This casual meeting only wrought greater 
intensity in her emotions, as she dwelt in her thoughts 
on their grevious parting. 

Calm outwardly, her whole nature felt the shock and 
its entailments. She had vague presentiments that in 
the absence of her lover it would continue to be the 
determination of her father to urge, even if not to in- 
sist, on a union, so much to be dreaded by her, between 
herself and young Southern. She was resolved in her 
own heart, to resist to the end any such consummation, 
3’et she could not know the weight of pressure in behalf 
of it which she would, in her own unaided strength, 
have to meet and resist. 

Events progressed rapidly; the military situation 
became more and more critical, although the actual 
strife had not yet commenced which was destined to 
continue until seven long years of momentous struggle 
and suffering should have passed. 

New York, after the battle of Long Island, fell into 
the hands of the British in the early part of the great 
conflict, it will he remembered, and was not occupied 
again by the Colonists until near the termination of the 
war. Our story will now date from the events follow- 
ing the British possession. 


62 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


The fact that Andros was a rebel fighting bis king, 
though ib was bitterly commented upon by the father, 
did not for one moment, daunt Charlotte. She, too, 
was half-rebel, feeling within her own breast, the in- 
justice and wrongs which the parent government was 
seeking to inflict on its colonies, against which they 
were now in revolt, and, in her silent contemplations, 
she could not help thinking, it must be confessed, with 
pride and admiration, of the exposure and perils to 
which the Continentals were bravely submitting, in the 
maintenance of their rights. 

With what patience, fortitude and courage, were they 
planning to meet the trial of their faith and patriotism 
in this pending struggle ! How eagerly did she await 
every scrap of news concerning the encounters between 
the opposing forces. It was this eagerness, this strong 
desire to know of public affairs, which buoyed her up 
against her personal emotions. 

Young Southern again resolved to appeal to her, 
and, if possible, at all hazards, win her hand, now that 
he had no rival in the open field, although he clearly 
saw the indisputable signs of repugnance which she 
manifested toward him. She, on the other hand, did 
not underrate the forces which he could marshal 
against her will; indeed she felt more anxiety than she 
cared to acknowledge to herself, concerning his persist- 
ent determination. 

That he was as unscrupulous as he was revolting to 
her fine nature and feelings, all the more served to 
create apprehensions, lest, by some means however 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


63 


questionable, be might gain an advantage which she 
could neither foresee nor prevent. These were war 
times when violence and disorder furnished opportuni- 
ties for evil which in peaceful times would not be 
tolerated. 

She was, therefore, both wise and vigilant; she ex- 
hibited to her father such resoluteness in resisting ap- 
proaches on the part of the obnoxious claimant, that he 
desisted from his earlier efforts in behalf of young 
Southern’s suit. He was politic toward his daughter, 
even while it was his great desire to refrain from any 
course of proceeding which should offend the pride of 
Lord Southern, Senior, to whom he was much indebted 
for his political preferment, and towards whom he 
looked for aid in whatever advance he might make in 
the future, under his majesty’s government. 

With a royal army now quartered in and about the 
town, and with the war vessels in the harbor, furnish- 
ing, in both cases, a large contingent of army and navy 
oflScers, the public social life in the town was continu- 
ally enlivened by social functions in the intervals 
between army and navy operations in the field and on 
the water. These functions demanded continually the 
presence and aid of the hostess of the executive man- 
sion, who was recognized as the leader in social affairs. 
She had, thus, to bear daily responsibilities in these 
relations, as well as in the charitable and church cir- 
cles in which she was actively engaged. Her accumu- 
lating duties weighed her down with cares from which 
she often, but vainly, longed to escape. 


64 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


A shallow nature would have found diversion 
sufficient in these various social functions to obliterate 
from the mind the image of an untitled jand unendowed 
officer in the despised Continental army; fighting in a 
cause which, by most, was considered as foredoomed. 
And a heartless maiden would have soon' discarded an ' 
absent lover, poor and obscure, in the presence of one 
rich and powerful; but Charlotte Carroll was neither 
shallow nor heartless. Selfish thoughts, luxurious and 
alluring temptations did not influence her to abandon 
the noble and the true in life. She did not forget 
Andros, she could not be shaken from her love, even 
though she felt it a hopeless passion, by any blandish- 
ments whatsoever. 

It was about this period of time that a great disaster 
occurred to the town, almost immediately after the occu- 
pation by the English, which called forth the heroic 
qualities of all the good and generous people within its 
boundaries. 

The conflagration of 1776 destroyed hundreds of 
public and private buildings, including many residences 
of the rich and poor alike. Fortunately for Miss Car- 
roll, whose father was absent at the time, the executive 
mansion was saved from harm by being disconnected 
from the more closely settled street. The young hostess 
did not hesitate to make it a place of refuge for many a 
homeless unfortunate, bestowing \ ntiring devotion on 
all sufferers who came within reach of her generous 
hand and heart. 

All classes learned, in this eventful crisis, to call her 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. (ji) 

beloved. The sick, the sorrowing, instinctively sought 
her aid and profited by her kind ministerings. 

In this way, and by kindred services in other direc- 
tions, she found relief and happiness in the midst of the 
trying conditions confronting her. 


66 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


CHAPTER X. 

The chain of military defenses which were hastily 
constructed on the Long Island side of the East River, 
by the army under Washington, stretching irregularly 
from near the site of the present Navy Yard, over to 
the Gowanus Creek and marshlands, and which were 
captured by the British in the battle of Long Island, 
were partially planned, as has been intimated, by 
Andros. He had thus won by his engineering skill, the 
indorsement of both Generals Washington and Lee, as 
one possessing energy and valuable knowledge in ad- 
vising and carrying forward such construction. 

After the defeat of the Continental army at this 
point, and the consequent abandonment of the town of 
New York to the British, and ultimately, of West- 
chester County also, Andros passed with the main body 
of the American forces under Washington, over the Hud- 
son River to the New Jersey side, and joined later in 
the campaign, in the brilliant battle of Trenton, which 
eventually resulted in wresting the Jersey province 
from British control. 

He held a captain’s commission as a staff officer, but 
he pleaded with the commander to be transferred to the 
line that he might enter more actively into the service. 
His sagacity and courage had been tested, and had won 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 67 

for him manj’ friends, among whom were several of the 
more prominent line officers. His services had proved 
so valuable in his professional capacity that the com- 
mander was loath to lose him from the corps of en- 
gineers, but finally, after repeated appeals, consented 
to the transfer, and gave him a captain’s commission 
in the brigade of General Sterling, who, in the New 
Jersey campaign, as in the fighting preceding, had 
proved himself sohrave and skilled both in counsel and 
battle in the campaigns thus far, both in New York 
and New Jersey. The winter was a severe one, and 
the troops, after their brilliant battle at Trenton were 
in quarters about Morristown. 

It is not the purpose of this story to deal with the 
history of these revolutionary times save in a very in- 
cidental way. The conditions, however, which con- 
fronted Washington in this first winter of the war, 
were so trying that it became necessary for the line 
officers in the regiments to plan every way in securing 
the bare necessities for the army, which was suffering 
from the hardships of the season without proper food 
or clothing. 

Expeditions were organized to capture the enemy’s 
stores, and our hero was not behind in the bold energy 
and courage requisite to insure success in these ven- 
tures. Mentally and physically be was well trained in 
an experience which gave him great facility in planning 
and executing these necessary raids on the enemy’s ter- 
ritory and commissary department. The need for 
active service at this time, was, also, peculiarly press- 
ing, as a healthful incentive to the army. 


68 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


Soldiers, if permitted to remain idle under such try- 
ing circumstances, lose courage and faith, and so action 
was the tonic needed to dispel clouds of discontent, as 
wtjllasto accustom the men to danger and inspire them 
with enthusiasm. Thus through the long winter 
months, while there was suffering, deprivation and 
death in plenty, the example of brave officers taught 
the common soldier bravery, and gave him faith to 
withstand hardships and meet appalling distresses with 
equanimity and fortitude. 

Young Andros, however, could not help at times 
brooding over these conditions, and .he radical change 
which had taken him from the congenial pursuit of his 
profession, and suddenly plunged him into the activi- 
ties and dangers of a war which was, thus far, proving 
so disheartening and desperate for the cause he had 
espoused. He would lie in his hut at night contem- 
plating the prospects, and longing for the season to 
open when the fortunes of war might be brought to the 
supreme test. 

Anobition, patriotism, courage and devotion all 
awaited an opportunity to prove the stuff of which he 
was made. 

He entertained a secret hope that his name might, in 
some creditable manner, be signalized, so that she 
upon whom his thoughts were constantly dwelling, 
should hear it heralded in connection with brave 
achievements. 

This maybe a boyish ambition, but it is also a manly 
one, and no man is ever without it if he is worth any- 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


69 


thing to his fellow-men. Andros was young, and these 
glowing aspirations spurred him, would give him no 
peace nor rest until he should have gathered for him- 
self the laurels which courage and fidelity have a right 
to claim. Yet while he was indulging in these bright 
visions, he felt keenly how dark and foreboding were the 
realities of the situation ; they weighed on his mind and 
heart. The shattered, broken, and dispirited little 
army of poorly equipped, undisciplined Continentals — 
what could it do in the face of the drilled veterans who 
were coming from over the sea to reinforce the British 
army here, armed and equipped as they were with 
the then most approved instruments of war? 

And when victory should at last be achieved by these 
and he, Andros, a rebel, should be led captive, perhaps 
to his death, how would he, shamed, humiliated, con- 
demned, meet the gaze of a deriding crowd, among 
which, haply, might be the one of all others who now 
lived in his heart continually. 

Do not smile, reader, at these depressing thoughts 
which haunted this young soldier as he endured an en- 
forced idleness in the camp of the Continentals during 
the dreary winter of 1776 at Morristown. 

Slowly the season passed, with little, save misery, to 
break the dull monotony, until late in February, when, 
one mcrning. General Washington sent for our young 
captain. Upon presenting himself at headquarters, 
the commander-in-chief informed him that there was 
great need for replenishing the army stores, and it had 
been determined to send a secret expedition to the coast 


70 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


for the main purpose of surprising the enemy and secur- 
ing, if possible, a supply of provisions. A large ac- 
cumulation of stores had been gathered in and about 
the country within range of the navigable w^aters of 
the province; would he (Captain Andros) lead an ex- 
pedition of picked men, provided with transportation, 
to surprise the guards at the posts, and capture the sup- 
plies so much needed? 

Upon receipt of this proposal he did not hesitate; 
plans were skillfully laid, the localities most likely to 
repay the enterprise were approximately ascertained, 
the time was fixed for the attempted capture and certain 
troops were notified through their officers to be in readi- 
ness for a four days’ absence. 

“Well, captain, what’s up?” one of the fellow- 
officers of his camp asked Andros the day before the 
appointed expedition. 

“What’s up,” he rejoined, “corn, potatoes, wheat, 
pork, everything’s up.” 

“Nay, but where are you bound?” 

“Ah, that’s asking,” he replied again. 

“How can I tell where I’m bound? bound for King- 
dom come, who knows? These British dogs seem to 
have all the good things, why shouldn’t they share? 
Why, are you going to be one of us. Lieutenant 
Monroe,* that you are so inquisitive?” 

“Yes, I dare say,” was the answer, “Colonel Casey, 
of General Washington’s staff, has just ordered me to 
take my com pan}’ and report to 5’ou.” 

*A£tervvard President of the United States. 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


71 


“Oh, you are my man, then, are you?” Andros 
asked. “Well, let me see your order. Very good, 
now you are to be iu readiness to-morrow night an 
hour after sunset. Give your men good rest during the 
day, for who knows when they’ll rest again.” 

“Tell me about it, c^.ptain,” said the lieutenant. 

“Well, let us go over to the ‘Quaker Inn,’ ” Andros 
replied, “and talk it over; there’s good applejack 
there, they say.” 

So the two officers sauntered a short way up the main 
street of Morristown to the public house in question, 
and entered its cozy bar. 

This inn was a central resort for news; various idle 
gossips of the town and army could be heard here even 
without the asking. Andros and his friend seated 
themselves at a small table and conversed in a confiden- 
tial tone about the contemplated expedition. Presently 
a stranger, a young man who had been permitted 
within the lines as a courier from New York entered. 
He was dressed in the fashion of the day, in plain 
Quaker gray. He had little to say until the landlord 
coming forward to welcome him, questioned him con- 
cerning the news in New York. The stranger, without 
replying, delivered to his questioner a package contain- 
ing the latest New York papers, w’hich gave full ac- 
counts of the slow rebuilding of the town after the con- 
flagration in the previous spring, and of much of the 
social doings relating to the public and private affairs; 
these papers were in demand, and it was customary for 
newspapers, when thus received, to be given to some 


72 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


competent reader to read aloud to those who were con- 
vened in the bar of the house. So, for a half-hour or 
more accounts of the various events occurring on Man- 
hattan Island were listened to with keen interest. 

After the general curiosity of the listeners had been 
satisfied, Captain Andro3 asked leave of the landlord 
for an opportunity to glance through the papers. The 
Royal Gazette, ^ The Manhattan Courier, Ihe 
Weekly Messenger, New York publications of the 
period. As he scanned the pages of the last-named 
sheet, his attention was suddenly arrested by a para- 
graph which startled him. His face flushed with ex- 
citement, then changed to a deadly pallor, as he read 
the following paragraph: “Dame Rumor has it that 
young Lord Southern is bestowing especial attention 
upon the accomplished daughter of His Excellency, 
Governor Carroll; it is intimated that the charming 
young hostess of the executive mansion is not indiffer- 
ent to the young nobleman’s regard.” 

This was all that Andros read. With sudden em- 
phasis, scarcely knowing what he did, he cast the paper 
one side, and strode from the room. It was' creditable 
both to himself and to the young lady in question, that 
he did not believe what he had read. He had cherished 
the hope, and not without some semblance of reason, 
that she on whom his affections were devotedly fixed, 
had not forgotten, and would not forget him in his exile. 
He had fondly nurtured the faith that she loved him even 
as he loved her, and while he remembered the hopeless 
words with which she had met his advances, on the oc- 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


^3 


casion of the interview in the garden, the tone of her 
voice, the expression of her face, with its telltale pro- 
fusion of color, and the gentleness of her manner had 
all thrilled him instinctively at the time, with feelings 
of joy as he thought he discovered a reciprocal bond 
between them. He could not summarily dismiss this 
cherished hope. “Surely, she is not one to lightly for- 
get a tie so sacred.” Yet he was shocked, and as he 
reached the street, oblivious of his friend, Lieutenant 
Monroe, who was following him in mute surprise at his 
unaccountable manner. Andros rapidly reviewed in his 
mind the memorable words and looks of Charlotte Car- 
roll as he recalled them when he had told her his love, 
and he felt, as he pondered them, a fresh renewal of 
assurance in her faithful remembrance of him. 

Gradually his confidence returned in its full force. 
“Nay, nay,” he said to himself, “this worthless noble- 
man, even with all his advantages of birth and for- 
tune, could never gain ascendency over a nature like 
hers; no flattering prospects of distinction and wealth 
would lure her to a life with such a base soul. Yet” 
(and again the shadow of doubt, born of uncertaintj’, 
darkened his spirit), “yet,” he soliloquized, “it may be 
true after all. How can I know? Who am I, to hold 
her in the thraldom of my love? An osbeure, un- 
known soldier of fortune, with neither name nor posi- 
tion to commend me!” 

From this despairing state of mind he resolved to 
emancipate himself. He had been selected to plan and 
execute an undertaking that called for all his resources. 


74 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


Blessed are work and care and application, when they 
break in upon a life sick with secret doubts and mis- 
givings, and can divert it from these to the field of 
stern action. With a vigorous power of will young 
Andros succeeded in banishing from his mind these 
morbid feelings and thoughts; he shook himself free 
from this blight, and was himself again. He at once 
bent all the force of his new-born energy to the exact- 
ing duties before him. He sent orders here and there 
in preparation for the secret exploit, and made his ar- 
rangements with such skill and accurac}^ that when, at 
last, the moment came for its undertaking, nothing had 
been forgotten. 

When on the eve of departure, he disclosed to the 
officers and troops under his command their destination, 
and the results which they were confidently expected 
tb accomplish, it was with such magnetic force and per- 
suasion that they, catching his spirit and feeling 
powerfully his presence and courage, were ripe with a 
sustaining enthusiasm tor the expedition, and entered 
into its execution, every one in his command, as if per- 
sonally accountable for its triumphant success. A cer- 
tain desperation of mind led to this fine display of 
fervor; a desperation which did not desert him, and 
which acted as an enduring incentive to all who were 
under him. 

The night was dark and overcast, the undertaking 
was to be expeditiously and secretly conducted, as all 
military surprises must be. It was designed to carry 
out the scheme with as little fighting and friction as 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTrON. 


75 


possible. To capture the f^uards of the stores, and the 
stores themselves, without any general alarm, was 
essential to success. Three hundred picked men 
accompanied him. They started for their destination 
two hours before midnight, marching swiftly over 
frozen ground, with their teams protected by being 
midway between the six companies constituting the 
command. 

The troops were enabled to reach the locality, which 
was in a village on the banks of one of the water- 
courses, without detection, the rumbling of their wagons 
being mistaken for the noise incident to the transporta- 
tion, by the enemy, of its own supplies from the stores 
to the army. The particular storehouses singled out 
for pillage were distant a mile or more from any others; 
the guard in charge numbered only fifty men, and these 
were mostly in their huts sleeping, so that the dozen 
men actually on guard at the store were secured as pris- 
oners, and the work of loading their train of wagons 
began. The whole affair was remarkably successful, 
though without the element of glory often attending 
midnight military adventures. 

A vast amount of needed supplies was captured and 
transported to the impoverished camps of the Americar 
army, serving to relieve it for weeks from threatening 
want. During all the attendant labor of the expedi- 
tion, Captain Andros was omnipresent, directing, advis- 
ing, working, with such foresight and system, that he 
practically organized success at each and every step of 
the enterprise. 


76 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


This signal blow dealt to the enemy, and the invalu- 
able aid rendered to the cause of the Continentals, 
elicited unstinted praise from the commander of the 
armj’, and established Andros as an officer of great 
brilliancy and resource. His name was at once pro- 
claimed by the periodicals all over the country, and es- 
pecially by the New York papers. Without vanity he 
felt a secret pleasure in the assurance that Charlotte 
would read of his success, and perhaps be proud of it. 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


77 


CHAPTER XL 

The services of Lord Southern Senior, which were 
emplo5’ed the home government before hostilities 
commenced, were of an advisory nature, relating to the 
disaffection existing, its extent and character, in the 
different provinces. The final culmination in a war, 
suspended the demand for such information, and led to 
the recall of Lord Southern for the purpose of securing 
his counsel in matters about which the parliament 
required immediate enlightenment. A journey from 
New York to England in those days of sailing vessels, 
was no trifling undertaking. Lord Southern notified 
his son of his intended departure a month before he 
was to sail. 

Young Southern had tried again and again, but in 
vain, to gain recognition in his suit for Miss Carroll’s 
favor. His persistent advances were repulsed with 
equal persistency, until he could but feel the humiliation 
of his attitude. In his desperation he had contem- 
plated other means for securing his wish. If he 
could in some way gain power over her, force her 
recognition, and as a last resort, if necessary, coerce 
her to become his wife, he perhaps would not scruple to 
undertake the task. He would, at all events, make 
one final plea in his own behalf, appealing to her am hi- 


daughters of the revolution. 


tioD by enumerating to her the selfish advantages which 
a union with him would obtain for her. 

It must be that she would he vulnerable concerning 
matters of social distinction. “Surely,” he said to 
himself, “she will not be blind to her own interests. I 
can picture to her in irresistibly glowing terms the 
great personal promotion which will await her in her 
own sphere as Lady Southern, and bribe her with such 
glittering promises of exaltation in rank and estate, as 
will finally overcome her repugnance, and win her to 
me.” Vain, poverty-stricken soul; he did not know 
the character with which he proposed to deal. A life- 
time of unhappiness; resulting from a daily and hourly 
reminder that one is wedded to an utterly mean and 
worthless nature, with which one can have nothing in 
common, to be overbalanced by the trappings and deco' 
rations of place and wealth. Gold and title in place of 
love and reverence! Indeed his was a low, groveling 
nature which could so degrade in his mind the strength 
and the nobleness of a true woman ; and so he persuaded 
himself, again and again, that he would win to him- 
self this one who dwelt in a range of life of which he 
could know nothing, and for which he cared less. 

Miss Carroll was sitting in her drawing room at the 
mansion one day in the early winter of 1776 - 1777 , 
busily engaged in knitting some lace, which served to 
keep her industrious during the winter afternoon. A 
great log of chestnut was snapping on the hearth (for 
in those days the ample chimneys were piled high with 
blazing wood) when the news carrier came with the 


daughtei^s oe the revolution. 

freshly issued papers, published weekly, containing 
both the tow’n and country news; not as in the present 
time, when the lightning brings to our doors daily the 
doings of the two hemispheres, but news slowly and 
laboriously collected by messengers, whose business it 
was to gather from army couriers and officers the doings 
of the week. As she took the first paper that came to 
hand she saw the name of one wffiom she knew printed 
in the headlines, and it made her heart thrill with 
strange emotions; she read the record of the forage, 
with which the reader is familiar, made by Captain 
Andros and his three hundred. 

She read and reread, and every time a blush, both of 
pleasure and pride, mantled her face, although she was 
alone. Her rebel feelings got the better of her, and she 
exultingly exclaimed to herself: “Oh, how glorious! 
I believe that he will become famous.” Tears stole 
down her cheeks at the very thought that he, yes, he 
whom she loved (for she freely confessed to herself her 
love), should be known to fame. 

A true woman is never proof against a hero; she is 
the champion of a manly man. 

Courage, daring, achievement, these stir and arouse 
her out of herself, and command her homage. The 
Spartan mother would rather her son should be brought 
home on his shield than without it. It is the sign of 
heroism when men go into battle and bravely offer their 
lives, and the sign of power when they come out of it 
conquerors; women love both heroism and power. 
These constitute the acme of manliness. And so tears 


80 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


of exultant joj" glistened in Charlotte Carroll’s eyes as 
she read her lover’s name, posted in capitals in the 
headlines of war news, denoting him a leader and con- 
queror in battle. 

A few moments later the postman came with letters. 
Postmarked in the city was one, the handwriting of 
which was familiar to her; she broke the seal, and from 
the folds dropped at her feet the paragraph clipped 
from the paper which coupled her name with that of 
young Southern. The paragraph which Andros had 
discovered at the Quaker Inn. 

Strange to say, she had not seen it before. An in- 
dignant expression, partly of scorn and partly of shame, 
shone from her eyes. Only a written line accompanied 
the inclosed clipping, and this read: “Is this true? I 
do not believe it unless I receive your affirmation. 
Signed K A.” No address was in the line, yet she 
knew from the account in the paper of Andros’ exploit, 
where he could be reached. In the enthusiasm accom- 
panying the war news which she had read, and under 
the influence as well, of the repulsive rumor conveyed 
in the paragraph of the clipping, she wrote: “No, no, 
it is not true; never believe anything of me disloyal to 
you. All honor for your brave action. Signed C. C.” 

How to send this she could not tell, but send it she 
would. She knew there were messengers that came 
and went across the lines; she would fiud one of these; 
and she did. There was a date on the brief line to her 
signed R. A., and she could not help remarking that 
that date was two days before the successful exploit of 


daughters of the revolution. 


81 


Andros recorded in the headlines of the paper. She 
thought to herself, “I wonder if Ibis rumor about njo 
had anything to do with the success of his midnight 
venture? It must have had.’^ Why did she think S'J? 

As she still sat pondering over the news that had so 
aroused her, she heard steps on the porch, and the great 
knocker beat a tattoo on the massive door. Presently 
the card of young Lord Southern was handed to her by 
the butler, and without ceremony the person himself 
entered, bowed, took her hand, giving the customary 
salute. He had evidently taken great care in the 
adornment of his person for this particular occasion. 
He was clothed in a velvet costume elaborately trimmed 
in gold braid, with Lis shirt front profusely overlaid 
with lace ruffles, with wristbands of the same char- 
acter, knee breeches equally elaborate in the trimming, 
with gold buckles at his knees, and on the shoes; while 
a dress sword hung at his side. His cocked hat was 
richly mounted with costly decorations, and held with 
studious regard for eff.^ct in his hand. 

He was evidently conscious of the especial elegance 
of liis dress, and could not conceal the fact, which was 
as plain to Miss Carroll as to himself. She instinc- 
tively divined the motive of the visit. The aversion 
which she felt for him was ill-concealed, nor did she 
endeavor to hide it. She had long since wished to be 
rid of his attentions, and had taken every means short 
of words to convey to him her wdsh. He was a poor 
diplomat, scantily supplied with fitting speech in a 
crisis like the present, and his blunt manner, obtruding 
in s^fite of himself, jarred on her fine sense. 


82 DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 

The native dignity which could so effectually assert 
itself in her bearing, teemed to peremptorily deny to 
him any unwarranted advances. He could not help 
observing this mental attitude; it added infinitely to the 
difficulty of his position, and placed a barrier between 
them which, in vain, he tried to remove. The indiffer- 
ent talk in which he at first indulged, was met with an 
indifference which balked him. At last he broke from 
his restraint, and with that brusqueness which is insep- 
arable from the manner and speech of coarse natures, he 
ventured on the subject uppermost in bis mind. 

“Miss Carroll, I think you are sensible of the object 
which filings me here to-day. I have before urged 
your acceptance of my hand and fortune in marriage, 
and I have come to make a final appeal to you. My 
father soon sails for England, and I am to return with 
him; to do so without gaining my suit with you would 
be both greatly disappointing and humiliating. Will 
you not permit me to hope for the happiness which I 
seek? Lest you may not fully realize the great ad- 
vantages which an alliance with me in marriage would 
secure ’ ’ 

“Pardon my interruption of your speech. Lord 
* Southern,” she said, “the advantages on which you 
would dwell have no charms for me; I have entered 
into the new freedom of spirit and life which this coun- 
try inspires, and I could not, under any circumstances, 
be induced to return to England, even though a king- 
dom were offered me. You speak of your hand and 
fortune which you would bestow; let me remind you 


daughters of the revolution. 


83 


that they are indeed valueless to me unaccompanied by 
love. I have before, and with the utmost plainness cf 
language, conveyed to you the fact that I cherish no 
love for you, nor could I ever. You can, therefore, 
readily see that, from my point of view, life associated 
with you under the best conditions, without love, would 
be unbearable. I trust yon will never again return to 
this unwelcome subject in my presence; it is exceed- 
ingly offensive to me; let us separate, since you so soon 
leave this country, without any additional barrier to 
that which must necessarily divide our lives.” 

The constraint which she thus put upon him was 
effectual. He felt, more than ever before, the strength 
of her commanding character and the unalterableness 
of her decision. With mingled arrogance and humil- 
ity, scarcely heeding the obligation of politeness, he 
abruptly withdrew from her presence and from the 
house. His will had been defeated; his plans were 
frustrated; this uncomprorcising rejection had excited 
his pride and resentment. Small and ignoble natures 
in such situations find refuge in revenge; its contempla- 
tion is the buffer which, for the moment, checks the ex- 
ercise of malignancy, and wisely holds in leash greater 
violence. 

The thought uppermost in his low nature found secret 
expression in these words, “I’ll be even with her.” 
This sentiment never deserted him: to be jilted by a 
colonial maiden — he, the “son of his father!” He 
would not tamely brook it. His first thought was, to 
induce his father to compass the removal of Governor 


84 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


Carroll from his office; but this would be futile; he 
would net relinquish her, he would possess her at all 
hazards, by fair means or foul, and to attack her father 
would not aid him in this determination, nor would his 
father descend to such intrigue against a friend. He 
must lay his plans independent of any outside assist- 
ance; plans which would not scruple at means. With 
some men, however base their natures, a fear of conse- 
quences, or a certain respect for the moral principle 
involved, or both, might deter from any resort to law- 
lessness; but with this young lord, born to be obeyed, 
a disregard of such motives was natural. It was “rule 
or ruin” with him, and so he at once became absorbed 
in plotting how he might reach the end that was ever 
uppermost in his mind. 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


85 


CHAPTER XII. 

The success attending the expedition of Captain 
Andros recorded in a previous chapter^ far from elating 
him, tended rather to subdue, even depress him. So 
much more would be expected from him, henceforth, 
whenever be should be sent on any military undertak- 
ing, that be felt sure he would, in the end, prove more 
than a failure. In the risks of war, so much is unac- 
countable, that a captain, leading an army, must be a 
genius if he would feel that he has the gift of organiz- 
ing victory beforehand. 

There is no game in life where it is so difficult to 
forecast results as in the game of war. Numbers, posi- 
tion, equipment, race, drill, experience, and above all, 
esprit-de-corps, are factors which it is almost impossi- 
ble to measure in anticipation. The man who leads is 
estimated from results by the unthinking, and results 
in war are so speculative that the capacity of the leader 
is problematical, and to no one more than to himself. 

This young captain felt deeply the responsibility of 
a little reputation; unlike a sanguine man he began to 
distrust himself. One has a legitimate right to doubt 
himself just in proportion, and up to the point, where 
be is conscious of his ignorance and inexperience. The 
effect of this doubting and depression on the mind and 


86 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


will of Andros, was to make him a conscientious student 
in the art of war. He obtained from every source at 
his command works on military art; he applied him- 
self, during the comparatively inactive season in camp, 
to acquiring the knowledge which these works afforded. 
He made friends with but few, but those with whom 
he came into relation were persons from whom he could 
receive aid in this study. 

Among those with whom he formed these relations 
was Lieutenant Monroe, who proved to be a young man 
of quiet dignity, of a finely trained mind, of resolute 
braver}" and sturdiness of character. This friendship 
was reciprocal; the one complemented the other. 
Monroe lacked somewhat those qualities which are 
called magnetic, while Andros seemed to hold the key 
to the average human heart, winning, by the genial 
attractiveness of his nature, the affections and confi- 
dence alike of his fellows. He had, though largely un- 
conscious of the fact, the elements of the leader in his 
temperament, but yet he shrank from leading. If he 
was a captain by nature, he never could assert his 
right, for he was modest to a fault, and generously con- 
siderate of other men’s claims. The mutual friendship 
between himself and Monroe was fruitful of good to 
both. They talked over their ambitions and future 
plans together with the ardor and candor of schoolboys. 

Though the first year’s campaign opened inaus- 
piciously for their cause, they both had an unswerving 
faith in the final victory of the colonists over the Brit- 
ish^ and they sacredly resolved that all their hopes for 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


87 


the future, both for themselves and for their country, 
must hinge on this success. Night after night these 
two congenial spirits, knit together in comrad(?ship, 
found help and courage in each other’s confidences. 
They determined, if it were possible, to keep together in 
the war. 

What a world of life in common exists between 
mutual friends such as these. The fervor and faith of 
the one strengthening the other. Their tastes, too, 
their education, their thoughts meeting and identifying 
each the other. In the case of these two a free- 
masonry of feeling and sympathy made their lives de- 
votedly close and self-forgetting. They deferred to 
each other; in a word, they knew the inward and 
ultimate meaning of friendship; a word often so lightly 
used and misapplied. “Sw^orn Friends:'’ is there a bond 
closer than these words imply? This happy unity could 
not prove otherwise than of great advantage to both. 
They encouraged each the other, and in the gloom and 
dejection which pervaded the revolutionary cause at 
this time, they learned to look for tbe remedj', and to 
study the possible chances and means of relief. 

They both became welcome guests at headquarters; 
were regarded as possessing extensive requirements in 
the various branches of war, and on more than one occa- 
sion their judgments had proved prophetically accurate. 
Their counsel was sought equally for its sincerity and 
its value. They became familiar with both the local 
and Continental maps, and suggested the probable 
general campaign which the British commanders would 


88 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


undertake, both from the military and political situa- 
tions. 

These suggestions were afterward singularly veri- 
fied, and especially in the campaign inaugurated by. 
Burgoyne, which followed in the summer and autumn 
of 1777. The history of this campaign is familiar to 
everj^ schoolboy. The object for which it was planned 
embraced the design of separating the eastern from the 
middle provinces, and thus in dividing the forces and 
severing the communications of the Revolutionists, to 
place a barrier between them. 

It was intended by the British to establish a military 
line which should prove effectual from Canada to the 
Hudson River, at Albany, and from thence combine 
and co-operate with Howe, whose purpose would be to 
obtain control of the river. The campaign involved 
military operations in the region of Lake George and 
Lake Champlain. The several forts and points of 
strategic importance in that section were in possession 
of the Continentals under command of General Schuy- 
ler, and this field of operation during the period named 
necessarily betokened great military activity, and 
would call for the transfer of large bodies of troops 
thonce from Washington’s main army. 

In an early chapter of this story the name of John 
Fairfax is mentioned ; it will be remembered that he 
was an acquaintance of Andros in the mother country, 
emigrating earlier than the latter, and settling in New 
York. He was a young man of sterling qualities, 
resolute, courageous and faithful, Wheu hostilities 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


89 


commeDced he was immersed in his own private busi- 
ness affairs; as soon as he could close these, he hastened 
to Join in the revolution, and enlisted in the Continen- 
tal army. He was commissioned as captain in a 
northern New York regiment, which was one of the 
first to reinforce the little army under General Schuyler, 
when it was doing heroic service in the early campaign, 
in resisting Burgoyne’s much larger forces on the bor- 
ders of Lake Champlain, as they both slowly made 
their way toward the Hudson River. The severity of 
this upper lake campaign was marked. The British 
enlisted the Canadian Indians, who were fierce and 
bloodthirsty in their savage warfare. Y^oung Fairfax 
was transferred to the staff of General St. Clair, who 
was under Schuyler. 

In one of the numerous engagements between the con- 
tending armies near Ticonderoga, where the Indians 
constituted a part of the British forces, and while Fair- 
fax was detached from headquarters carrying orders to 
officers on the field, he encountered some stray savages 
prowling through the woods searching for prey and 
plunder. The meeting was so unexpected, that before 
he had time to escape, they had shot his horse from un- 
der him, and were seeking to take his life. In his des- 
peration he had placed his back against a tree, and with 
sword in one hand and pistol in the other, had deter- 
mined to sell himself as dearly as possible; he had kept 
at bay three of the savages who attacked him in front, 
succeeding in shooting cne and wounding with his 
§word another, when a fourth one stole up behind the 


90 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


tree, and would have despatched him with his toma- 
hawk. At the critical moment a cry was heard, and 
the Indians fled, not, however, before they had inflicted 
severe wounds on the young officer. 

The alarm heard proved to be from the lips of a 
young girl, who, fortunately, happened to be passing 
through the forest,' carrying a message from her home 
to a neighbor. She had seen the attack upon Fairfax, 
and her cry was partly designed to surprise the savages 
and frighten them from their work, and partly invol- 
untary at witnessing the attempted deed. When the 
savages were gone, the young girl stole to the form of 
the officer, who lay prostrate and nearly unconscious at 
the foot of the tree bleeding from his wounds. Seeing 
his condition and his need of immediate aid, she 
promptly, with perfect coolness and presence of mind, 
tied his scarf as a bandage about his chest, where was 
a serious flesh wound, and then quenched the flow of 
blood from his sword-arm which was also severely 
hurt. 

At that moment a number of Continental soldiers on 
picket duty were passing through the wood; she 
promptly secured their assistance. After explaining 
the situation, she requested that the wounded officer be 
borne to her father’s house, which was a quarter of a 
mile or more away, in the settlement of Clinton 
Heights. On reaching the house, a critical examina- 
tion of the wounded man by an army surgeon attached 
to an extemporized army hospital situated a short dis- 
tance frona the settlement, made it plain that he could 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


91 


not be safely removed from his present quarters. It 
became necessary, therefore, to arrange for his care 
where he was. 

At that period there were no such approved methods 
for ministering to the sick in hospitals as there are at 
the present time, nor any trained nurses. In this in- 
stance it plainly devolved upon the young girl who 
had saved Fairfax’s life to attend to his wants as he 
lay helpless on the bed. 

The name of the occupant of the cottage to which 
Fairfax had been brought was the Rev. Franklin Mon- 
treau, D.D., a colonial missionary appointed by the 
Canadian Branch of the British Home Missionary 
Society. His mother had married a Canadian de- 
scended from the French. Montreau was well edu- 
cated, and the daughter, who, since the death of her 
mother about two years previous, was the only mem- 
ber of the doctor’s family beside himself, had received 
what at that time was considered a liberal education 
for a girl. 

Her natural grace, her fine physique, and strong face 
gave to her a beauty quite different from, and superior 
to, the accepted type of female attractiveness; a beauty 
expressing an independence of character, which latter 
was peculiarly her possession. It was at the rectory of 
the settlement then, that the young officer found him- 
self domiciled after he had recovered sufficiently to take 
notice of his surroundings. Miss Grace Montreau sat 
by his bedside at the moment of his return to partial 
consciousness; and as he gazed at her face he thought 


92 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


he had never beheld a couni^enance so unmistakably 
stamped with the power of gentleness. 

Beauty is deeper than the surface, it is something 
more enduring than the fairest complexion; there was 
an expression in her eye that charmed him; he could 
not define it to himself; it told of kindness and devo- 
tion; of faith and feeling; it bad too, that radiance 
which bespoke a keen intelligence and quick sympathy. 
She had black hair and black eyes, which betrayed her 
lineage. While he was thus watching her furtively, 
with his own eyes in shadow and partly closed, she 
turned toward him; their glances met; a slight blush 
tinged her face as she asked him how she could serve 
him. 

“I remember something of my mishap,’’ he said, 
“but only vaguely; pray may I ask where I am, and 
how I came here?” 

“Not now,” she replied, “wait; you are weak; you 
have suffered greatly from loss of blood. Let me ask 
you, in obedience to the surgeon’s orders, to take this 
remedy ; I was instructed the moment you returned to 
consciousness to give it to you, and to forbid you to 
exert yourself either mentally or physically.” 

With this message, given in a low tone of voice, she 
quietly administered the prescription; leaving the room 
for a moment, she returned with some slight nourish- 
ment, after partaking of which, the patient lapsed again 
into unconsciousness. The rough manners and uncouth 
ruggedness of those with whom Mivss Montreau daily 
carno into relations, seemed not to have affected or 


daughters oe the revolution. 03 

influenced her bearing or speech, although for over 
three years she had dwelt here with her father in the 
wilderness, subjected to the crudeness of its pioneer in- 
habitants. Her life during this time had, much of it, 
been spent in ministering to the sick, the poor and aged, 
and such ministrations furnish the true incentive to ten- 
derness, refinement, and gentleness of manners. 

No one can tell of the love she had won to herself by 
such self-renouncing devotion; all the people of the 
hamlet reverenced her, and found in her a constant 
friend and helper in their life of privation and strug- 
gle. She was as fearless as she was good, and had, on 
more than one occasion, aided in protecting her home 
from attacks by Indians. 

These different qualities furnish a rare combination 
when found in a young woman. While the exposures 
of her frontier life had made her vigilant and self-reli- 
ant, the painful helplessness of many poor souls within 
her father’s obscure parish had aroused and sustained 
her pity, and continually enlisted her tender sympathy 
and aid. 

Noble natures are frequently called out under stress 
of the meanest surroundings, and while their rare 
qualities pay not be heralded to the world, they are no 
less present and precious. Such natures do not look 
for special means for signalizing their nobleness, they 
are great by virtue of a continuous, enduring steadfast- 
ness and love, even though exercised obscurely and 
humbly, that are fostered by constant and daily service; 
a queen in one’s own right may be infinitely more of a 


94 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


queen than is the occupant of a throne who depends 
upon armies and navies for the maintenance of title and 
sovereignty, and Grace Montreau was a queen in her 
own right. 

The British had captured Ticonderoga, the Continen- 
tal armies were everywhere retreating from the lakes, 
yet it was impossible for young Fairfax to accompany 
his general ; he lay prostrate, utterly helpless and de- 
pendent, doubtful whether he would recover from the 
great shock, and from the perilous wounds which he 
had received. 

Through all this illness Miss Montreau and her 
father, while not knowing whom they were sheltering 
and caring for, devoted themselves to the young 
stranger. The presence of the British army, and its 
allies, the Indians, in the neighborhood of the settle- 
ment, served as a constant menace to the inhabitants, 
who were principally devoted to the Continental cause, 
and led them to fear violence from the savages if the 
latter should have the opportunity. They received as- 
surances from the British commander of Fort Ticon- 
deroga that he would try to protect them, yet day by 
da}^ they lived in apprehension, with savages prowling 
through the forests and over the hills. 

Fairfax was subject to relapses which made his case 
precarious. The surgeon from the fort was frequently 
summoned, and expressed doubt as to the result. 
“Only with the greatest care could he hope to be 
saved.” The invalid resolved to write to acquaint- 
ances in New York; but bow to convey the message 


Daughters of the revolution. 


95 


was the chief problem. The post-office service was in- 
frequent, and in these war-times, almost suspended ; 
even if he could reach them he had scarcely any ex- 
pectation of a reply. In this dilemma he could but 
place himself in the hands of his host and hostess, 
assuring them that he would reward them for their val- 
uable service to him ; an assurance which they did not 
ask nor wish. It appeared as if months must elapse 
before he would be able to help himself. 

Grace Montreau, with her knowledge and experience, 
bestowed attention and skill upon his case which would 
have been impossible for him to have received under 
any ordinary circumstances. Fairfax was an English- 
man, and had received a good education ; he w^as a de- 
voted lover of books. As the days passed, his wounds 
gradually healed; he was permitted to sit in his chair 
supported by pillows, then to converse sparingl5\ The 
duty of attending to his nourishment and of fulfilling 
many kindly offices of the sick room, fell mainly on the 
daughter, and thus these two young persons were more 
and more brought into intimacy with each other. 

Grace, whose father had a large collection of books, 
w^ould read fora brief time to him each day. Possessed 
of a pure, rich voice, into which she naturally threw 
much sympathy, and being a trained reader, having 
been tutored in the elocutionary art before leaving 
Quebec, wffiere she was born and reared, she charmed 
her listener with her gift. They read Shakespeare and 
the Elizabethan poets, as well as the then, contempo- 
rary writers. They eagerly read English History, and 


96 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


each commented upon it. Their conversation gradu- 
ally took on a personal character; they related, one to 
the other, the salient points in their lives, their tastes 
and sympathies found much in common; in a word, 
unconsciously, an attachment was growing between 
these twD young people, which, unchecked, was reach- 
ing a critical point, that might at any moment break 
out in a sudden and passionate expression. 

Fairfax did not know where to communicate with his 
general. The latter had supposed that his staff -officer, 
who was missed at headquarters, and, owing to the 
enforced retreat of the army, not reported nor heard 
from, was either killed or a prisoner in the hands of the 
enemy. The latter was really the case, though by 
some oversight his name had not been entered on the 
roll of prisoners, and no effort had as yet been made to 
ascertain the fact of his presence and illness. 

He was impatient for recovery, that he might enter 
again into the active service of the campaign, yet he 
could not, and did not know where the fortunes of war 
had taken the division of the army to which he was 
attached. To attempt to find his way to it alone, 
while still helplessly weak, would be foolhardy. He 
therefore waited. Love had made its new wound, 
which he would not willingly let heal. 

On one of the ideal summer days the surgeon told 
him he might venture forth from the house for a short 
walk; he grasped a stick, and leaning heavily on it, 
tottered slowly along a lane which passed through the 
wood, by the spot where he had nearly received his 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 

fatal blow. The air was tempered by the gentle 
warmth from the rays of the sun; a refreshing breeze 
fanned his brow, and gave a touch of faint color to his 
pale cheeks; life, though he still had an enfeebled 
pulse, presented to him a pleasant side in this fresh 
mountain air. 

He was glad that he might again live to share its 
duties and vicissitudes. Life ! It seemed to him that a 
new vista had opened to him. 

He had experienced the excitement and dangers of a 
military campaign, where struggles and battles had 
kept his thoughts and nerves keyed to a high tension ; 
bjt now there came a new, ardent impulsation, richer 
than he had ever experienced ; a heart-life where the in- 
tensity of soul-feeling was transformed and electrified 
b}’ the mysterious fire of love. Never before had he 
felt coursing through his veins and nerves such thrills 
of emotion. He had thus far cherished these within 
himself; he had not yet dared confess to the object of 
his devotion, and it was on this that his thoughts pon- 
dered, as he slowly trod the wood path. 

While thus indulging in day-dreams, he heard foot- 
steps, quick and elastic, behind him ; as he turned he 
was surprised to meet the gaze of the one on whom his 
thoughts had been dwelling; gladly he welcomed her 
as a companion in his first venture out of doors. 

“Miss Montreau,” he pleaded, “may I have your 
good company through this lonely forest?’’ 

“Indeed,” she replied, “I think that you should have 
somebody’s company; you are hardly fit as yet to take 


98 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


much risk alone ; let me guide you and order your foot- 
steps as a mother would a child’s. You are to walk 
when I tell you, and you are to sit and rest when I tell 
. you, nor shall I permit you to disobey me. Are you 
disposed to be a good child?” 

“Yes,” he replied, “for to tell the truth, I like you 
as a leader. I should tire, as lam, of the rough orders 
from military headquarters, but yours, ever since you 
saved me from that insatiable beast. Death, have all 
brought me good fortune. You would make a genius 
in the field. Miss Montreau; your commission would be 
exercised to save life, not to sacrifice it; sol gladly 
submit to you as commander.” 

She thanked him, yet reminded him that to sacrifice 
life was “in the bond,” and then repeated with simple, 
genuine feeling, that incomparable Scripture text, 
“Who would save his life must lose it,” adding, “Do 
you not constantly feel the truth of those words? I 
never preach sermons; Pa does that, good man; but I 
often give him his text; he says I have the happy 
faculty of giving him the right one at the right time. 
For he says, ‘Somehow, Grace, you seem to know 
what the weather-beaten souls hereabout need,’ and 
' do you know, Mr. Fairfax, pardon me. Captain Fair- 
fax” (touching her hat), “I never give Pa a comforting 
text? These rough pioneers do not want pity, nor indul- 
gence, nor smooth ways pointed out. They will say to 
me, ‘We don’t want no feather beds up hereaway; we 
wants faith and courage, we wants toughening; talk 
brimstone and fire and lash us with rawhides, but never 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


99 


pat us, no time, on the back. We ain’t fond of no s:)ft 
words, they’ll do for the childers; give us salt pork and 
hard-tack in those ere sermons; let ’em be full of grit 
and gall for all we care; we wants to get used to the 
hard side ; it makes brawn with which to tackle this 
wilderness country.’ So my texts are pitched to their 
key, and Pa has the cue now; but it was a trial at first, 
for him to come to such terms; he was the leading 
preacher in the Protestant Church of Quebec, and the 
change of audience is a radical one for him,” 

“But, Miss Montreau,” asked Fairfax, “what was it 
that tempted your father to abandon a field so suited to 
his mind and tastes, and penetrate these wilds, to labor 
in one so uncongenial and unpromising?” 

“Nay,” she said, “not unpromising, indeed not; the 
people here are poor and uncultured, many of them, 
but they are intelligent; they have at heart a deep 
reverence for the Bible, and for the Christian truths. 
They are compassionate with all their roughness, and 
charged with good feeling; they reverence my father, 
he is so wholly enlisted in behalf of their welfare, and 
they trust me with a royal kindness which gives one 
unsparing faith in the human heart. Their life here is 
obscure and exceedingly simple, but, Mr. Fairfax, it 
has its compensations when one is enabled to forget 
oneself, somewhat, and to remember daily the text I 
repeated to you.” 

This wilderness girl ! Ah, could the weak worldlings 
drop the unworthy robes of earthliness, and soar to the 
height of this young maiden’s philosophy, what then? 

LofC. 


100 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


But they could not. Only now and then we find a 
Franklin Montreau and his daughter. 

Fairfax, a typical, enterprising young Englishman, 
leaving his country, primarily on a mission in behalf 
of the “main chance,” marveled at the words of this 
regenerate daughter of light. He was touched and 
quickened on the side of pure and lofty impulse, as he 
listened to her brief narration, and saw her happy 
reconciliation to the hardships and uncongenial com- 
panionships to which she submitted with such a sub- 
lime spirit. 

“I see. Miss Montreau,” he replied, “you are beyond 
my reach ; I only wish I had the goodness, and the self- 
surrender at heart which you have; but do you want 
always to live here in this forbidding life? Have you 
not thought of returning to the refinements and social 
surroundings of your earlier home? Do you not owe 
sornething to yourself, and to your prospects?” 

“Mr. Fairfax,” she answered, “the refinements of 
the social life in cities are very superficial and artificial ; 
it is not from these that we receive our higher im- 
pulses, or our pure lessons in refinement, and it is not a 
question of how , much we owe to our own personal 
selves; it is a question of how much we owe to God.” 

At these words, somehow, he felt the wisdom of 
silence. What could he say in reply to such exalted 
words, and true? For a space of time they walked 
through the forest paths with the leaves rustling to the 
breezes overhead, their voices stilled. The wood- 
peckers tattooed on the trees, and the robino soeraed to 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


101 


send forth their notes ladened with a saddened cadence. 
Until now it had hardly occurred to Fairfax that there 
could be such an exalted side of life, rich, deep, pure, 
contented; blessed with duties rendered to those who 
could not reciprocate ; wholly remote and separate from 
ihe stir and stress of affairs. So the two, pondering 
much and saying little, strolled down to the wooded 
shore of Lake Champlain, seated themselves on the 
Itrunk of a prostrate tree, and gazed across the wide ex- 
panse of glittering waters, alive with perpetual motion. 

Here they indulged their dreamy reveries to the full, 
feasting their eyes on the wonderful scenery and con- 
juring vague visions of the future, until the deepening 
twilight admonished them of the coming darkness, 
when they reluctantly traced their way homeward 
turning with frequent pauses to steal charming views 
of hill and lake under the magic spell of the dying 
afterglow from the western skies. 


102 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

The town of New York, the headquarters of a large 
army, the center of army operations and of all descrip- 
tions of war commerce, had become a continuous scene 
of confusing activity. The prison houses and prison 
ships, on land and water, were filled to suffocation with 
unfortunate war prisoners, many of whom were suffer- 
ing extreme privations from utterly inadequate provi- 
sions. 

A disagreement between the generals of the opposing 
armies concerning an exchange of prisoners, had re- 
suited in a vast augmentation of captives until the im- 
provised prison houses could hold no more living vic- 
tims. These prisoners were exposed to aggravating 
forms of physical diseases and festering filth. The oc- 
cupants of the military hospitals were recruited from 
these prison pens, and daily, hourly, the undertakers 
were kept busy performing the duties of their mournful 
oflSce, for the death rate was appalling. 

This tragic state of affairs gave to the town residents 
a very serious side of life to reflect upon. All the 
ladies who possessed any genuine practical sympathy 
had tendered their services either as nurses, or in con- 
nection with committees of relief and supplies. A sys- 
tem of visitations was instituted that a more accurate 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


103 


knowledge of the existing conditions might be acquired. 
Comparatively little could be done where suffering and 
disease were so virulently present, bui^evoted women 
consecrated themselves to the workt^of alleviation. 
Among those who took the leading responsibility, and 
were at the bead of these benevolent workers. Miss 
Charlotte Carroll was one of the most active and fore- 
most. She contributed all the energy and enthusiasm 
of her sympathy to the cause. Known by the officers 
in command of these prisons and hospitals, as well as 
by the subordinates, she did not spare herself in the 
work of relief to which she was dedicated. 

One day, about a week before Lord Southern Senior, 
had arranged for his departure for England, Miss Car- 
roll had received her father’s permission to visit a 
prison ship anchored in the harbor, which also served 
the piirpoL j cf hospital, about which deprecatory com- 
ments were being made by the public prints, which 
described its nauseous condition, and the cruel neglect 
to which its occupants had been subjected by the au- 
thorities in command. She had provided herself with 
stores of provisions, of simple remedies, and of gar- 
ments contributed for the cause, and had sent all these 
on before to the ship, with the message that she would 
soon follow. 

It was necessary for her to embark in a small row- 
boat to reach the prison ship, for which transportation 
she had previously provided both for herself and an 
old family servant who was to attend her. Reaching 
the pier at the Battery where she was to embark, she 


104 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


found the servant had failed to arrive; while waiting, 
she was informed by a boatman that he would row her 
to the ship, as time was precious, and that the serv^i^t 
could follow in the boat which she had previously 
arranged for. Without suspicion or hesitation she 
consented, and was soon on the water, sitting in the 
stern of a small ship’s boat which was making good 
speed, propelled by two stalwart seamen. She had 
but a vague idea of localities in the harbor, nor had she 
any knowledge of the distance from the Battery to the 
prison ship. Her journey, while being made with all 
the speed possible, seemed to lengthen out beyond the 
time which she had anticipated, and yet no ship ap- 
peared corresponding to the one previously described to 
her as her destination. 

After a row of nearly an hour, she began to question 
the sailors who attended her. They informed her that 
the vessel would soon be reached, and that it had been 
floated farther down the harbor a few days before. 
Another half-hour passed, but heedless of time and dis- 
tance, after the assurances of the men, she had given 
herself up to the beauty of the scenery, the widening 
expanse of water, and the eastern shore with its rich 
and massive forest foliage; suddenly the boat swayed 
to the east and rounded a point, where, lying in a 
little bay before their eyes, was a princely rigged 
schooner. 

There was at the moment but a slight breeze, and 
the schooner’s sails were furled on the yardarms. As 
the boat reached its side, the steps were lowered, and 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


105 


she was requested to go aboard. Different as the vessel 
was from the one she had anticipated seeing, she yet 
did not hesitate, hut grasping the railing, was soon on 
the deck of a perfectly equipped little craft fitted out as 
if preparatory to an extended pleasure trip. As she saw 
only sailors at work on deck, and no signs either of 
sickness or prisoners, she requested to see the captain of 
the vessel that she might present her credentials, and 
announce her mission. 

Presently she was invited by a cabin boy to descend 
to the cabin, which was a long, low room, sumptuously 
furnished, serving as both cabin and saloon. She had 
hardly seated herself on one of the dainty chairs when 
steps were heard, and raising her eyes she saw before 
her none other than young Lord Southern. Even then, 
devoid of suspicion, she did not grasp the situation. 
She remarked that she had not anticipated meeting 
him there, where she had come to help relieve the needy 
and sick aboard. 

She turned away after this brief explanation, for the 
evident purpose of avoiding further conversation with 
him. The coarse nature of the man now asserted itself. 

“Miss Carroll,” he replied, “allow me to undeceive 
you respecting your present bearings; you are not on 
the ship that you think you are; you are on my ship, 
and I have the pleasure of considering you as my guest. 
The day is so delightful that I could not forego the 
pleasure of your company on a pleasure excursion. It 
would have been more agreeable to me to have extended 
the invitation to you in proper form, and to have given 


106 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


you ample opportunity for preparing for an extended 
absence from home, but the wish for your company was 
pressing, and I did not care to take the risk of a second 
refusal from you, after having bad to endure one so 
recently; you will, therefore, comprehend that I pro- 
pose a sea voyage, and am delighted that you are to 
be one of the company.’’ 

The mingled tone of mockery and triumph which 
characterized this announcement, together with the 
revelation which suddenly’ dawned upon her mind, that 
she had been inveigled into a snare by this villain, 
filled her at first with an acute sense of alarm. She had 
risen, stunned and astounded, from her seat, during the 
first sentences of Southern’s sinister explanation, but 
before he had concluded, she bad so far recovered her 
self-possession, which fcr a moment, very naturally, 
had deserted her, as to be able to meet his insolence 
with a dignity and bearing which disconcerted him. 

He bad anticipated that as she realized the situation, 
she w^ould be smitten with fear, and w’ould plead with 
him for her release and return; but no such humility 
or shrinking alarm met him. Her reply was charac- 
teristic; she looked him in the eye wuth a searching 
gaze, manifesting neither personal timidity nor appre- 
hension. 

“Mr. Southern,” she replied, “I have never had any 
very exalted conception of your general character, but 
if any one had told me that you were capable of perfidy 
so black, and of cowardice so despicable as this act of 
yours reveals, I could not have conceived it possible; 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


107 


you have shown j^ourself to me in a new light, in this 
lawlessness which you contemplate perpetrating, and, 
judging the man from the act, I have not the slightest 
doubt but that you are proud of this detestable plot. I 
warn you, however, that the course j'ou are pursuing 
is full of peril to yourself. I have many and devoted 
friends, as you well know. My father is a man of the 
strongest resoluteness. Your offense is one which will 
call down upon your head swift and merciless ven- 
geance. Beware, sir, what you do, and take warning in 
time. I am not unprepared for emergencies, though I 
could not have possibly anticipated this one. You see, 
sir, that I am armed; do not dare to follow me.” 
With these last words she drew from a pocket in her 
jacket a small double-barreled pistol, and stepping to 
the stairway leading from the cabin, she cocked the 
weapon, and aiming it at Lord Southern, she quietl}^ 
but resolutely ordered him “not to take a step toward 
her as he valued his life.” Slowly she mounted the 
stair leading to the deck and disappeared from his 
sight. 

At the moment when she thus appeared on deck, the 
captain of the schooner, who was also its owner, from 
whom Lord Southern had chartered it, was conversing 
with the first mate relative to hoisting sail. She in- 
stantly recognized in the officer. Captain Stanhope, who 
had commanded the vessel in which, after her mother’s 
death, she and the family servants had sailed to this 
western world ; her father, at that time, being in New 
York, and its then recently appointed governor, had 


103 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


arraDged with Captain Stanhope to take charge of Ids 
family on the voyage over. During the trip she had 
become well -acquainted with the captain, and knew 
him to be absolutely trustworthy. The moment she 
saw him, therefore, she was assured, in her own mind, 
that he knew nothing of this scheme of Lord Southern’s 
against her. 

Without hesitation she approached the oflScer, made 
herself known, and requested an interview with him. 
He grasped her hand cordially, begged to serve her in 
any and every way within his power, and asked her 
how he could do so now? 

“Are you the captain of this vessel?” she asked. 

“Yes, Miss Carroll, I am; lam under orders from 
Lord Southern, who has chartered the schooner for an 
ocean voyage.” 

“Captain Stanhope,” she continued, “are you aware 
that by some dastardly plot of this Lord Southern, I 
have been inveigled to this vessel, and that it is the 
purpose of this man to sail away to sea with me on 
board against my will?” 

In an instant an angry flush mounted to his face : 
“Miss Carroll, do you think I could know of such a 
plot and lend my aid to further it?” 

“No, captain,” she rejoined, “lam certain that you 
are wholly incapable of joining in such a conspiracy; 
and I now ask you to have me Lansferred from this 
vessel to the one which I supposed I was being taken 
to, when I was brought to this one, namely, the prison 
ship anchored somewhere in the harbor.” 


DAUGHTERS OP THE REVOLUTION. 


109 


“I will see that your wish is complied with at once,” 
he answered, and turning to his mate gave instructions 
that one of the schooner’s gigs should be manned and 
placed at the disposal of Miss Carroll. 

Meantime, young Southern, after having aroused 
himself from the paralyzing astonishment which Miss 
Carroll’s words and action had produced in his mind, 
went to his stateroom, took a pistol from his dressing 
case, donned his sword, and mounted to the deck. 
Lacking in courage, he yet possessed a dogged deter- 
mination not to lose his game without an effort. As 
he stepped on deck he heard the order given by the cap- 
tain to the mate, and with considerable promptness for 
one who was rather slow of movement, he called the 
mate to him and informed him that he would please 
pay no attention to the captain’s instructions; that he 
himself would arrange the matter with Captain Stan- 
hope. 

The mate was a man whom Lord Southern had him- 
self engaged, and was quite subservient to his will. 
The crew too, consisting of six deck hands besides the 
cook and second mate, were of his own selection, in all 
of whom he had confidence that they would carry out 
his own wishes. He, therefore, disregarded the cap- 
tain, since he had observed his attitude towards Miss 
Carroll, and personally gave orders to the mate to have 
the sails unfurled and the vessel made ready for im- 
mediate sailing, since a breeze had opportunely sprung 
up that would aid his plan. 

It now became a question between the captain and 


110 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


tho mate as to which of these orders would be obeyed 
by the men. Lord Southern asserted his will as 
supreme, and told Captain Stanhope that he had no 
power on the vessel contrary to his own commands; 
meantime the mate had given orders which were being 
obeyed, and presently the sails were in process of being 
hoisted preparatory to departure. 

The captain saw his authority ignored, and keenly 
felt the humiliation to which he was beiug subjected. 
Seizing the trumpet he called to the men to come at 
once, in a body, to the stern quarter deck, as he wished 
to make a statement to them. He asked Miss Carroll, 
in the meantime, to step to his side. The members of 
the crew were subject by law to the commands of the 
skipper, and were not aware that the orders of the 
mate, in the present instance, were in conflict with the 
captain’s. When they bad gathered about Captain 
Stanhope, he said to them : 

“You see at my side,” pointing to Miss Carroll, “a 
young lady who is the daughter of Governor Carroll 
of the New York Province. She has been enticed to 
this schooner under false pretenses, and it is the inten- 
tion of Lord Southern to force her to make a sea voy- 
age with us on this vessel against her own will. I 
call upon you to join me in protecting her, and to 
instantly lower one of the schooner’s gigs; two of you 
are to embark therein and row her to the prison ship 
which she is to visit, and which she supposed she was 
boarding when she was brought to this vessel.” 

These explanations and orders were given with a 


daughters of The revolutipn. Hi 

voice and naanner which unmistakably indicated the 
spirit of command, and would not brook disobedience. 
Lord Southern w^ould have replied had he dared to, but 
being guiltj^ of the outrage charged to him, his guilt 
made him all the more a coward ; he saw that indigna- 
tion flashed from the eyes of the sailors, and that the 
captain’s orders would be observed to the letter. The 
exposure of the plot by the brave w’oman who had so 
fearlessly defled him, gave him plainly to understand 
that force would be met with force, which would inevit- 
ably result in his discomfiture. 

The mate, while ready to obey the young lord, clearly 
saw the futility as well as the peril, of issuing orders 
counter to the captain’s; he very frankly said to 
Southern that he, the mate, would not dare do it; that 
since the statement of the skipper to the crew, he could 
plainly see that any orders from himself, in the inter- 
est of his lordship, would be ignored. By this tijne the 
boat had been lowered, two sailors had been designated 
to man it, the steps were arranged, and Miss Carroll, 
under the protection of the captain, prepared to embark. 
Before going, she turned to Lord Southern and said : 
“If you were to return to New York at present, it 
might prove disagreeable to you, as it will be my im- 
perative duty to communicate to my father the disrep- 
utable plot w'hich you have attempted against me, for 
which you most certainly will be called to strict ac- 
count.” 

She then approached Captain Stanhope, and holding 
out her hand, thanked him with all her heart for his 


n-2 DAUGHTERS OE THE REVOLUTION. 

protection, assuring him that her safety at the present 
moment was due to his presence and orders. She 
begged him to take an early opportunity to call at the 
executive mansion, where he would be sure of a cor- 
dial reception both from her father and herself. With 
these last words she quickly descended the steps, took 
her seat in the bow of the boat, and bade the men to 
row her to her destination. 

The humiliation which came to young Southern in 
having his plot so completely thwarted, was accom- 
panied by a rage which proceeded to expend itself on 
the captain. 

The latter was a man nearly fifty years of age, calm, 
resolute and brave, and when this young lord ap- 
proached him, in his anger, with violent gestures and 
words, the captain, who was a powerfully built man, 
turned to him with a stern, commanding presence, and 
silenced him with the significant remark that he, the 
captain, was not the one with whom he would have to 
settle for this attempt on the liberty of the young lad}^; 
and he further added that it would be more becoming 
not to waste his impotent speech on him. That he, 
Southern, would soon find himself the defendant in this 
matter, and therefore it seemed in ill-taste to set him- 
self up as plaintiff. 


DAUGHTERS OR THE REVOLUTION. 


113 


CHAPTER XIV. 

The campaign of Burgoyne’s extended through the 
summer and autumn of 1777. As stated before, it 
involved the necessity of drawing on Washington’s 
army for reinforcements. Among troops, which were 
early sent, was the corps in which Andros had a com- 
mand ; he and his friend, Monroe, were not separated, 
both being in the same brigade that joined General 
Schuyler’s army north. The early history of that for- 
tunate campaign (fortunate at last for the Continental 
cause), was replete with incidents of courage and dar- 
ing on both sides, and young Andros found himself in 
a situation where for weeks intense activitj^ prevailed 
in the field, and where upon numerous occasions, he ex- 
hibited such marked soldierly qualities as to attract the 
attention of the chief in command. 

It was unknown to young Fairfax, whose career was 
so suddenly arrested in the operations around Lake 
Champlain, that his old acquaintance, Andros, was 
also fighting in those early battles of the “Two Lakes,” 
where one after the other of the strong positions on the 
hills bordering the lakes had to be abandoned by Gen- 
eral Schuyler’s forces at severe cost of men and muni- 
tions. Perhaps no more difficult situations were en- 


114 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


countered and wisely naet considering the meager forces 
at command, than those with which General Schuyler 
had to contend in that lake campaign, and it was his 
constant study, under difficulties, to keep his army 
intact, and finally to extricate it and combine it with 
the forces near Albany, as he did, that General Gates 
afterwards might achieve the final success in the 
campaign. The warfare with the Indian allies of the 
British army was peculiarly trying, since it was impos- 
sible to prevent these forest warriors from resorting to 
their cruel and savage methods, especially in the wilder- 
ness regions of the Lakes, where their familiarity wilh 
the country gave them great advantages for fighting 
means of ambuscades and night surprises. It was in 
these early battles that Andros distinguished himself, 
which, while they were frequently unsuccessful, pre- 
pared the way for success. 

It was while thus engaged, and after a laborious 
day in June, that Andros and his friend Monroe wan- 
dered to the borders of the lake from their camp, and 
stretching themselves at full length upon the inviting 
sands on the shore, weary, and it must be confessed, 
somewhat depressed in spirit, closed their eyes and 
* sank, both of them, into a profound slumber. 

Sleep, to the soldier in an active campaign, is wel- 
come at almost any time, so exacting is the demand 
made upon the nerves of one under continual orders 
either to march or fight; and these young officers with 
their commands, had been almost continually in action, 
or retreating, for nearly two days and nights. In this 


daughters of the revolution. 


115 


secluded spot away from camp, though they did Dot 
realize it, they were taking an unwarranted risk in thus 
abandoning themselves to oblivion without guard or 
picket to warn them of any possible danger from the 
enemy. Their fatigue was so great, that, with the re- 
freshing breezes from the lake fanning them, and with 
the foliage of trees sheltering them from the rays of the 
June afternoon sun, they lay prostrate and unconscious, 
luxuriating in the profound repose which tired limbs 
and easy consciences invite. 

The afternoon had nearly faded into sunset, when 
suddenly they were awakened by rude bands which 
shook them back to life again only to acquaint them 
with the fact that they were surrounded by a band of 
Mohawk Indians, allies of the enemy. The young 
officers were bewildered by this perilous situation. 
The savages who awakened them peered into their 
faces, and showed them at once, by the fierce war-paint 
of their uglj^ visages, the nature of the foes into whose 
power they had fallen. 

They were not long in realizing their extreme danger. 
Little could be expected from these enemies but death. 
Although the British commander, when accepting the 
Indians as allies, had, in most eloquent exhortations and 
commands, imposed upon them the rules and usages of 
civilized warfare, yet the bloodthirsty Mohawks counted 
the success of their achievements according to the num- 
ber of scalps hanging in front of their wigwams, and 
they permitted no opportunity to pass for increasing 
these trophies. Here beneath these trees were two more 


116 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


such ready to be huug on their belts, and who should 
question their right to possess them? 

Andros and Monroe were to be given, at least, brief 
probation. The young officers had with them their 
sidearms, including pistols, which, in the galhering 
darkness, for a moment escaped the scrutiny of their 
captors. A circle of eight or ten dusky forms was 
made about them, with the chief in the center, and a 
council was held to decide what disposal should be 
made of the captives. As frequently occurred with 
these savages, there arose a difference of opinion con- 
cerning the treatment their prisoners should receive : in 
the present instance this difference fired the anger of the 
more violent warriors, who were for proceeding to ex- 
treme measures without mercy or delay. Wrangling 
thus, there was a moment or more of time when, in the 
midst of this bitter dispute, the savages relaxed their 
watchfulness over their prey. 

The excessive mental alertness of the two captives 
concerning what might be their fate, had imparted an 
acuteness of vision and a nervous tension which instinc- 
tively apprised them of the slightest opportunity for 
escape from their present danger, and seeing this 
wrangle between the savages, the}" seized the critical 
point of time, and noiselessly springing to their feet, 
dashed through the circle, and dodging between the 
trees, eluded for the moment, the lynx eyes of their 
dusky foes. 

Fortunately the twilight had deepened so that tho 
Indians missed the forms of the two Americans, who, 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


nr 


by dint of darting behind trees, had changed their 
course from that taken at the start. The savages dared 
not use their firearms for fear of shooting some of their 
own party, yet their number enabled them to divide 
their forces and search in various directions simultane- 
ously; this they did, which made escape more difficult 
for Andros and Monroe; hut gave them a chance in 
case they were overtaken of meeting and contending 
with only two or three of the enemy. The young 
officers hastened, if possible to outspeed and outwit the 
pursuers; fora time it seemed as if they had made 
good their escape; but just as they were congratulating 
themselves on their fortunate deliverance, and were 
resting under the shelter of a great bowlder in the midst 
of an opening, they heard a stealthy tread behind them, 
and in a moment more were confronted with the pres- 
ence of two of their pursuers. It became evident that 
a hand to hand, life and death struggle was inevitable; 
the two young men had their pistols, hut to discharge 
them would serve to attract others of the savages to the 
spot ; they, therefore, instantly drew their swords, and 
by rapid shifts and turns about the bowlder, defended 
themselves as best they could against the methods em- 
ployed by their treacherous foes. 

It was possible for them, with their longer weapons 
to keep the savages from using their tomahawks in 
close quarters, but if it had been daylight this would 
have hardly prevented the latter from throwing their 
weapons at them, which the Indian can do with such 
unerring skill as to almost insure a fatal result, 


118 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


The two officers backed themselves against the gjeafc 
bowlder, finally, and for a time stood strictly on the 
defensive; seeing that their enemies had their knives 
in their belts, and instinctively realizing the desperate 
nature of the encounter, they made up their minds that 
their risk was less if they resorted to their pistols. 
Each drew one from his belt and taking aim, they 
snapped the flints, which, alas, in both instances missed 
fire. In their desperation they again resorted to their 
swords, making skillful and rapid lunges at their foes. 
A long and doubtful conflict followed. Finally the two 
officers were fortunate in disarming and disabling the 
savages. They followed up their advantages in- 
stantly, seizing the warriors they succeeded in binding 
them with strong cords which one of them happened to 
possess. Making sure of their helplessness, Andros 
and Monroe, utterly tired and exhausted with their 
fight, left their enemies. They had hardly gone a 
mile, however, when in the gloom, they suddenly 
came upon the pickets of a division of the British 
forces. The alarm was given by the latter; a rifle 
crack rang out in the air, and Andros fell w^ounded. 
Two soldiers were detached from the g’lard to impro- 
vise a litter, while a third took charge of Monroe, and 
the little procession moved slowly toward the camp of 
the enemy, located on a wooded hill about two miles 
from Fort Ticonderoga, which latter was still in the 
hands of the American forces. Andros was sent to 
the hospital. It was ascertained that his wound, while 
dangerous, might not cause his death, but the ball bad 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


119 


struck so perilously near a vital part, that the utmost 
care and skill was needed in removing it. 

The loss of blood had already weakened the wounded 
man to that degree that he lay upon his cot through 
most of the night in a state of delirium. Toward morn- 
ing he sank into quiet slumber from which he did not 
awaken until the afternoon. His friend Monroe had 
begged the privilege to remain with him. Both the 
two friends entertained the conviction that the wound 
of Andros would prove fatal. The long rest and judi- 
cious nourishment had, however, made him calmly 
reconciled; yet, as he rested there quietly, his mind 
reverted to the friends he had left in New York. He. 
conversed now with perfect frankness of the loved one 
whom he believed he was never to see again. 

With all the tenderness and ardor of his nature he 
adjured his friend Monroe to, seek her, if ever he re- 
turned, and convey to her his last words of devoted love 
and remembrance; not satisfied with these verbal mes- 
sages, however, he begged for pen and paper by which 
be gave expression to the deep and pure attachment 
which had been to him an unfailing source of strength 
and inspiration in the numerous trying situations to 
which he had been subjected. After he had completed 
his letter and received assurances that it should, sooner 
or later, find its way to its destination, his head sank 
upon his pillow, and Lis slight strength seemed entirely 
to fail him. The fading twilight shed its dim reflection 
in at the rough casement of the hospital, and as he 
gazed through the open window^ out upon the darkened 


120 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


waters of tbe lake, the tranquillity of the scene seemed 
to fall like a benediction upon his spirit. 

Andros’ nature at heart was that "of the idealist, and 
sensitively responded to the beautiful; as he contem- 
plated the dying light, and heard the lapping waves 
beat upon the shore, his imagination was filled with t 
sense of the nearness of heavenly things; it seemed as if 
his soul had already come into touch with the Infinite 
Spirit, and that time and space were as nothing com- 
pared with the divine benediction which fell upon his 
ebbing life. 

These experiences often presage what we call death. 
With Andros it seemed as if the signal was unerring. 
The surgeon in attendance had given only faint encour- 
agement, and, at last, had lost faith in a rally; the 
symptoms appeared unmistakable. There was one last 
though slender chance; could his mind be kept perfectly 
tranquil, and the recuperating power of sleep have un- 
disturbed possession of him for a full night, it might 
turn the scale in his favor. 

The feelings and contemplations which took posses- 
sion of young Monroe as he apprehended that be was 
about to lose this dearly cherished comrade, were tinged 
with deep grief. Between those loving passionatelj’, 
who are threatened with a final separation, there is an 
intensity of mental and emotional anguish which makes 
the strain at times intolerable; but in the separation 
of those whom we term friends there is often room for 
reason to have sway. Friendship is not an imperious 
passion; it more frequently appeals to the rational 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


121 


side of our natures. We are bound in friendship 
through the influence of mutual respect, and under the 
guidance of wise intentions ; a mixture of motives and 
of interests conspires to make friendship very normal 
and healthful; we go to our friend for counsel, for aid; 
we appeal to his judgment, and utilize bis experience. 
Friends mutually trust, and mutually exchange know- 
ledge, confidences and consolation. 

These were the terms on which Andros and Monroe 
had gradually become linked to each other, and their 
close careers in hardships, in battles and in dangers, in 
marchings and campings had strengthened these links, 
and welded them, so that now, the one who thought to 
mourn, felt acutely but silently, and meditatively, the 
trial whicL must come with separation. His sorrow at 
the loss that he anticipated was so near was not agon- 
izing nor heartbreaking, but an aching from a hurt 
that left him keenly alive to consequences. He could 
calmly foresee the void which his friend would leave in 
departing, and, as he sat by his bedside gazing on the 
pale, pain-smitten face, his mind recurred to their joint 
lives, the ill and good fortunes which they had shared 
during the short year or less of their friendship, and a 
feeling of subdued resoluteness took possession of him. 

He must now live without the aid and sympathy of 
his friend; he would be thrown upon his own resources, 
and these thoughts led him to estimate the excellences, 
the training, and the valuable characteristics which he 
could no longer command. These he must try to cul- 
tivate within himself, bearing in mind the worth and 


122 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


practical benefits as bo bad seen them exemplified in 
bis friend. How courageous, bow morally sane, how 
steadfast, yet bow enthusiastic he was; how cool in 
danger, bow self-possessed in mind, and swift in execu- 
tion; bow generous in bis estimate of others, bow sweet 
in temper, and deep in feeling. Ob, if we would but 
pay the tribute to devoted lives while yet they are spared 
to us, which we, sorely grieving^ lo^^ally pay in the 
shadow of the tomb, how the spirit of such appreciation 
would react to make us better and nobler! 

Monroe enumerated all these virtues incarnate, which 
he believed were to be snatched from him, and strong 
man though be was, be bent his head low and wept in 
silence as the stillness of profound sleep stole away the 
pain and the mental fever from his prostrate comrade. 
Sitting there, though awake, he was so absorbed in his 
own sad, lonely thoughts that he did not heed the arriv- 
al of a stranger who seemed to have free access to all 
the wards of the hospital. 

This person paused as he was passing the cot at the 
side of which young Monroe was sitting, and after ob- 
serving him for a moment or two, asked him if, as a 
clergyman, he could render a service for his friend. 
Monroe, after scrutinizing him closely, questioned him 
concerning his charge and place of residence. 

“I am Dr. Montreal!, rector at Clinton Heights,” re- 
plied the stranger, “the surgeon welcomes me here 
always, and directs me to any extreme cases in the hos- 
pital; he has mentioned the case of a young American 
officer^ Captain Andros, as one which be apprehends 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


123 


ma}’’ prove fatal; is this friend of yours here the person 
named?’^ 

“Yes, doctor,” Monroe answered. “This quiet sleep 
which has now overtaken him, seems to be his last 
chance, though apparently a frail one and I am watch- 
ing for any favorable symptoms which may develop. I 
am anxious, doctor, to start a message on its way, 
which Andros has written to a dear friend of his in 
New York, could you aid me in forwarding it?” 

The inquiry was opportune, for a mail messenger had 
only the night before, arrived in the vicinity, and w^as 
receiving such mail matter as the British camp and the 
settlements had to forward South. Young Monroe, on 
receiving this information, proceeded to supplement the 
sad communication which Andros had written to Miss 
Charlotte Carroll, with a few lines explanatory, as fol- 
lows: 

“My very dear friend, Captain Richard Andros, 
who is a prisoner, grievously wounded, and in hospital 
in the British camp, here on Lake Champlain, near 
Fort Ticonderoga, is admonished by his medical at- 
tendant that the chances of recovery are remote. In 
view of his critical condition, he has, with great solici- 
tude, and under stress of great weakness, written the 
enclosed communication which I have undertaken to > 
send you w'ith all possible expedition. We have not 
given up hope of his recovery, and everything that 
mortal aid can accomplish you may rest assured will be 
done to save his life. The case will be a tedious one, 
even should life be spared. I am a prisoner with him. 
We have become greatly endeared to each other by the 


124 DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 

memorable conditions of the past year, for we have 
been associated in many perils, and have been con- 
stantly together ; it will be my wish to remain with 
him so long as I am held a prisoner. The wounds from 
which , he suffers were inflicted by a British soldier 
while on picket duty; we belong to the American 
Army, here, under General Schuyler, but for the 
present, you might address care of Rev. Franklin 
Montreau, D.D., Clinton Heights, New York Province, 
who will faithfully forward any communication. 
Signed, Yours faithfully to command, 

“James Monroe.” 


Enclosing this note with the communication of 
Andros, he gave it to Dr. Montreau, who pledged to 
see it in the bands of the mail-carrier. That night the 
latter left camp under an escort, on his way to the Hud- 
son River and Albany. 

We need not follow in detail the record of the long 
days and nights during which Captain Andros re- 
mained in the hospital, clinging to a very frail thread 
of life. His friend Monroe was enabled to remain with 
him and do everything possible for his comfort and 
recovery. No nurse could have ministered with more 
tenderness, love and skill, and certainly no one could 
have inspired with deeper and more unqualified trust, 
the weak wavering vitality, making its doubtful strug- 
gle against death, than did Monroe in his devotion to 
Andros. 

The various battles and engagements which took 
place up in these lake regions, resulted at last, in the 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. l^o 

capture by the British of the line of forts on and south 
of the lakes. Ticonderoga was one of the first to sur- 
render on July 5th, 1777. Andros still lay on his bed 
of suffering, but with a bare hope that he might re- 


cover. 


126 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


CHAPTER XV. 

The near proximity of Captain Fairfax to his old- 
lime English comrade Andros, was not suspected by 
either. It will be remembered that Fairfax received 
his wounds about the time of the capture of Fort Ticon- 
deroga, therefore subsequent to the encounter of Andros 
and Monroe with the Indians. The long, painful con- 
finement of Andros in the hospital had found him there 
after the campaign against Burgoyne was transferred 
to Saratoga. It was the casual mention of Andros* 
name by Dr. Montreau one day that apprised Fairfax 
of the presence of his old friend near him. 

With what happiness, when he was sufficiently recov- 
ered, did he gain permission to visit the hospital, and 
how joyous was the meeting. The pain Andros had 
suffered and the loss of strength, had reduced him to a 
degree that made him almost unrecognizable. Fairfax 
related his own trials, and touched with blushing 
timidity and almost reverent feeling, on the part Miss 
Montreau had taken in aiding his restoration to health. 

“Ah, what a nurse I have had,” he replied, when 
questioned. “I think I would gladly, yes, joyously, 
elect to undergo the trial again, if I could make sure 
of her gentle and faithful presence and devotion; a 
wonderful girl, I can tell you, Andros. Ah, don’t 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 121 

think I am going to let the grass grow under my feet 
now that I am well again. I am in sad doubt whether 
she will have me or not, but I do not intend to let her 
escape if I can help it. She’s an angel, but not one of 
3*our pale-faced, white-robed, winged ones, flying off to 
heaven just at the time she is wanted most.” 

Then came the mutual interchanges of personal ex- 
periences, and accounts of narrow escapes, the long hos- 
pital confinement, the close calls, and yet, here the}^ 
were, both spared to meet each other, enlisted in the 
same cause, fighting on the same side. 

Monroe listened to their talk, and gladly embraced 
the opportunity of making a new friendship. Indeed 
Fairfax proved himself quite worthy of so close a rela- 
tion with one who afterward became President of the 
American Republic. Andros had so far recovered that 
he now begged for writing materials and indited 
another epistle to Miss Carroll, in which he detailed, in 
brief, the events, public and personal, transpiring since 
he had been in hospital. 

Bearing in mind her injunction that no correspond- 
ence should pass between them, he pleaded his presum- 
ably fatal illness as a reason for the first letter to her, 
and the second one he was addressing her to correct the 
presumption entertained when he first wrote. 

Let us not discredit Miss Carroll by any thought that 
she would seriously revolt against receiving these let- 
ters. Love when brought face to face with the issue of 
life or death, dispenses with conventionalisms, sets 
aside fine points of pride and etiquette, and makes every 


1^28 DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 

sacrifice for its own sake. Nothing is more imperious 
or overruling than love in time of exigency; it over- 
comes all obstacles; surmounts untold difficulties, un- 
der the sway of an importunate dominion. Andros could 
not restrain his longing to tell to the one whom he 
loved, however cruelly and hopelessly separated they 
w'ere, the innermost desires of his heart, concerning her- 
self. During the time when the clouds gathered darkly 
over him, and now, again, that he could take courage, 
and look forward to his restoration, the rebound of his 
pulses impelled him to speed a message to the one dear- 
est to him, conveying the glad news to her. 

And so it would have been, if she had received it. 
As the days passed it became a military necessity for 
provisions and sick within the British lines to be re- 
moved from the distant lake regions and transferred to 
the lower forts recently captured, and thus obviate the 
need of long transportations of provisions. 

About the middle of August the movement was 
made. An exchange of prisoners was soon effected ; 
both Monroe and Fairfax were again sent back to 
their commands, but the extreme weakness of Captain 
Andros forbade any such happy relief to him, and in- 
deed did not permit of his removal. Before the depart- 
ure of Fairfax there were brief but affecting meetings 
between himself and Grace Montreau. 

On the eve of a separation, the sequel to which could 
neither be foretold nor conjectured, the moments became 
precious in which they could be together. Fairfax had 
as yet refrained from formally confessing his love to 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


1^9 


her, a love which bad its foundation in sweet reason- 
ableness of devotion, as well as in the profonndest obli- 
gations. Why he had not done so, if asked, be could 
hardly have told ; not from reluctance, but, perhaps for 
the same reason a child will keep its rarest luxury un- 
tasted until the last. 

The longing was so inexpressible, that he hardly 
dared to venture an attempt at expressing it. She was 
not like other girls; she was not thinking of marriage; 
the whole trend of her life was founded on so high a 
plane of duty, and her devotion had always been so 
rich with consecrated sympathy and self-renouncement, 
that to appeal to her in behalf of a passionate love 
alone, seemed almost like lowering her standard. 

There are lives so unselfishly heroic, that to talk of 
love to them seems like tempting them to surrender to 
weak indulgence and luxury. To pity is to forget one- 
self entirely in the contemplation of another’s ills and 
sufferings, but to love and be loved, is to share a happi- 
ness that seems to eliminate the heroic ideals of sacrifice. 

Fairfax, therefore, knowing the exaltation of character 
in the self-effacement that marked Grace Montreau’s 
life, trembled, lest in offering his love to her, and plead- 
ing for her own in return, she would hesitate, question, 
pray and refuse. She was so like a Sister of Mercy 
already betrothed to the Kingdom of the Spirit. 

Thus between his longings and his dread, be had pro- 
crastinated until, now, just on the point of departure, 
he must meet the crisis and have his fate settled with- 
out a moment’s delay. Time is more precious when we 


130 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


must measure it by minutes, than when we can com- 
placently count it up at our leisure in months and years 
to come, and, alas, only moments were left to him. A 
day or two therefore, before the final separation, he 
planned to spend the evening at the home of the good 
Dr. Montreau. 

He had wandered off just as the sun was setting be- 
hind the hills, intending to make his visit at the par- 
sonage after the father and daughter had partaken of 
their frugal evening meal. His pathway, in the mean- 
time, had led him into the same woods in which he had 
been rescued from the savages. He had habitually ex- 
perienced a certain sacred feeling when revisiting this 
spot, connecting it, as he did, with the young girl, in 
whom he was now so deeply interested, she who had 
saved his life there. 

The solemn silence of the old lake forest was broken 
alone, by the reedy note of the hermit thrush, which 
only intensified the solitude, as it broke on the stillness 
clear and rare, like a remote echo from the hills. It 
was not yet dark, but bordering on it; the time, of all 
the day, when the spirit feels its freedom and mocks at 
the drudgery of the work-a-day world ; when, if ever, 
the mind dreams of its emancipation from toil and 
stress and tests its wings in fancy free. How tender 
and wistful are the longings of the heart when released 
from the restraints of cares and burdens! it is blessed 
that men, at such moments, may banish earth, gather 
precious toll to the spirit, and feel the recreation which 
the wild forests give. 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


131 


To have the imagiuation astir with inexpressible at- 
mospheric discernings, is sweetening and exalting; it 
makes the dross of life trivial, and helps the human 
mind to adjust values in behalf of “unseen things,” 
which, we are told, “are eternal.” It is not best for 
man to systematically build air castles, but there is a 
great loss to any man, who has neither the tempera- 
ment nor the capacity for the absorption of the sublime 
in nature and in life. True love does much for men in 
the way of promoting high incentives. It sublimates 
the thoughts of many who, but for its exalting ideals, 
would forever grovel on low plane?. To the very essen- 
tial utility of hands and feet, it helps to add the wings, 
the poetry, the dreamland, and these are not half so 
illusive as the world would have us believe. 

Fairfax was in these memorable woods alone, at this 
sunset hour, apotheosizing his loved one. He was a 
man whose life was not romantic; a man of facts and 
figures; yet this transporting sentiment of love had 
opened new vistas in his being, and disclosed to his 
entranced vision boundless riches such as “the world 
can neither give nor take away. ’ ’ Love may be selfish, 
'' but it inspires an unselfish selfishness. Tennyson tells 
us that 

‘ ‘ Love took up the harp of life and smote on all its chords with 
migli":, 

Smote the chord of Self, which, trembling, passed in music 
out of sight.” 

So potent is love in dissipating mean thoughts, and 
in vanquishing the sordid propensities of human greed. 


132 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


Paul tells us of moments when he did not know 
“whether he was in the body or out of the body.” Such 
moments (who does not know them, who has ever loved?) 
come to the impassioned lover when he is mentally 
worshiping the object of his passion. Let us thank 
God for these moments of transfiguration in the midst 
of the humdrum of life. 

While Fairfax was thus absorbed in his own thoughts 
he did not notice that there was another present beside 
himself, until he was suddenly arrested by the very 
person who was uppermost in his mind. Miss Mon- 
treau had been ministering to some dependents of the 
parish, and was on her way home; it was here that she 
had inadvertently met him not long before; could there 
be any potent spell in this path, any charm which had 
lured their footsteps thither, that they should again 
join each other here? 

“Oh, how ethereal and ghostly you look, Mr. Fair- 
fax,” said Grace Montreau, “stalking through these 
solitudes at this time of day; where are you bound? 
Do you not know that if you follow this pathway you 
will inevitably plunge into the lake? You seem to be 
roving so at random, that one would almost feel you 
ought to have a guardian appointed; indeed, I have 
half a mind to take you under my care, as I did not 
long ago, in this very wood, and return you to your 
anxious friends.” 

“Well, I wish you would,” he replied. “I think, 
however, I should be entirely content to put myself 
wholly in your hands, and let the rest of my friends 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


133 


remaiD anxious, if I have any; you have been so good 
to me so many times, and I am your debtor so infin- 
itely, that I feel like an honest bankrupt, ready to sur- 
render everything; but unlike him, not seeking a re- 
lease.” 

Fairfax said this lightly enough, but beneath the 
tone of banter there was a vein of seriousness which 
caused the young maiden to gaze curiously into his 
face. She could see, that for some reason, he was un- 
der the pressure of intense feeling; a certain brightness 
of the eye, and a quick nervous movement gave energy 
and spirit to his words, even in their lightness of utter- 
ance. 

“Do you know,” he continued, “that I am to return 
to my post of duty in a very few days, that I am to 
leave you, go away from you here, part from you who 
have saved my life more than once? I cannot think of 
it without a pang of deep regret. Strolling here to-day 
in this forest, I am more than ever conscious of the 
bond which so strongly attaches me to these associa- 
tions, and which you have done so much to seal. I am 
aware that j^ou may not share this feeling with me. 
You, who are doing good and making sacrifices every 
day and hour of your life, have become so accustomed 
to this self-immolation, that you are unconscious of 
your owm rare beneficence; but do you think you can 
thus minister so devotedly to the restoration of human 
life, adding so much to one’s happiness, without filling 
one’s heart with gratitude and reverence? Miss Mon- 
treau, it seems almost sacrilege for me to think of 


134 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


m3'Self in connection with yon, I, who have no merit 
which can answer to your devout nature, but now, I 
am going away, and the guard which I have kept upon 
my lips fails me. I have not dared _to tell you before 
for fear — for fear it would all prove so vain a confes- 
sion; but now, to-day, I must say it — have you not 
known it, have you not guessed how I have longed to 
tell you of my love? I have no right to cherish a single 
hope that you have any love for me in return, but if 
such a boon could come to me, if the words could be 
uttered by your sweet lips and from your heart, the 
world would seem dross indeed, compared v/ith the 
happiness they would bestow.” 

The moment of silence that followed this outburst of 
confession left the doubting lover in intense suspense. 
Grace Montreau, though matured in many ways, was 
a novice in this one thing. She had had, in her rela- 
tions with young Fairfax, whom chance had thrown in 
her way (if anything can be attributed to chance), some 
unaccountablj' strange feelings. Immured in these 
pioneer surroundings, associating with those who were 
her inferiors, she had, up to this period, met with no 
one who could enter into her experience, or share her 
closer confidence; certainly no one who could arouse 
her deeper, passionate nature. Love of this kind, 
therefore, was like a closed book to her. 

The advent of this brave soldier, had, in its sequel, a 
revelation for her, and now, as she listened to his frank 
avowal, a tide of strangely aggressive emotion surged 
through her heart and stirred her with a new joy, 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


135 


which, for a moment deprived her of all power of utter- 
ance. Love! was this love, then, of which she had 
read in books? Could she, too, love as so many did of 
whom she had read? And was it real, or only a wild 
romance? 

“How love me,” she said. “I did not know that I 
had done more than my duty. Do you mean Mr. Fair- 
fax that you owe me anything and that you conceive 
this your way of paying me? If so you must not re- 
gard yourself as under any bonds to me. I have no cla im 
to make for doing a humane thing in helping to save 
your life. You cannot mean to offer yourself to me in 
return for my care for you?” 

“Nay, nay, God forbid that I should set such a high 
value on myself; it is not that, not that; indeed it is 
not. I have seen you now for weeks, you, who give 
your thought and heart to others in need. Your sweet 
life has touched me more than I can tell you. To me 
your beauty is doubly attractive, for it is the beauty of 
a face which reflects the inward beauty of a rich soul. 
I love you for yourself. I see in you that consecration 
which is born of the purest and noblest aspiration, and 
so the prize which I would win is infinitely precious. 
Am I too selfish? I know. Miss Montreau, that I 
ought not to ask for so much ; it is more than I ever 
can merit, the giving of which would make me forever 
a hopeless debtor to you. My only plea is that I love 
you, and have an inexpressible desire to make you my 
wife.” 

The deep; spiritual eyes of this young woman of the 


136 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


■wilderoess were raised to the eyes of her lover, and as 
he returned the gaze they seemed to say something 
which quickened his throbbing pulses and set his nerves 
quivering with unwonted agitation. 

She who held herself so steadily calm and tranquil 
(so unconscious was she of self-centered interests) 
burned with an inward fire which flashed its flaming 
signal from her face and lit her eyes with radiant 
gleams betokening an ardor which she could scarcely 
conceal. The color came and went; a soft and eager 
expression possessed her features; her lips seemed to 
part, but gave no reply, and for a few short moments 
it appeared as if she was entranced and riveted to the 
spot on which she was standing. 

Suddenly, with a supreme effort, the words came: 
“Ob, Mr. Fairfax, do you mean what you say? You 
love me; I couldn’t have dreamed it. But how could 
I become your wife, and yet be a daughter to my dear 
father? I had not thought of a lover or a husband ; I 
have never anticipated marriage; I have had so much 
to fill my life; my work seems so plain to me; there 
are so many here who need me, and to whom I can 
daily carry comfort and relief; has not God appointed 
my lot here? Have I any right to love, if love should 
bear me away from this home and this field of W’ork, 
with all its urgent duties? I know not how fo answer 
you; pray, Mr. Fairfax, give me time to think; let me 
seek counsel from my father, and from God ; it is so 
strange, so sudden a thing to me, this offer which you 
make, and this love which you plead; even if I love 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


137 


you, oh, even if I do, I must know whether I ought to 
cherish it.” 

She spoke so simply yet so loftily and so womanly, 
there was no mixture of motives, no thought of sacrific- 
ing any obligation of duty to personal demands; she 
was ready to follow her conscience wherever it might 
lead her, for it was, to her thought, indisputably the 
voice of God within her. Silently the two walked in 
the homew'ard pathway; hardly a word passed between 
them, and when they had reached the gate Vvhicb opened 
into the rector’s grounds, with a gentle grace she bade 
her lover good-night, reminding him that both her 
father and herself would expect him to make them a 
final call before his departure. Then the door opened 
and closed, and Fairfax was left alone. 

He did not quite comprehend the woman who had 
left him so abruptly; yet, perplexed though he was, he 
trusted her, that whatever might be her ultimate re- 
sponse to his confession, it w^ould be both honestly and 
conclusively reached by her, which once spoken, would 
admit of no questioning on his part; her yea would be 
yea, or her nay, nay, whichever it might be. 

Although Fairfax was a prisoner, yet his residence 
at the rectory during his illness up to within a short 
time, had secured to him comparative freedom ; for he 
had been permitted to go at liberty as he w’illed, until 
now he was to be exchemged, and was to take his de- 
parture within three days. The interview recorded 
above furnished material for thought which absorbed 
his mind to the exclusion of more practical matters. 


138 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


The latter part of the day followieg the one in which 
his avowal to Miss Montreal! had been made, found 
him on his way to her home. The uncertainty of his 
relations with her as her lover agitated him, and left 
him troubled and dejected. 

He was questioning himself constantly, whether he 
should make an appeal to the father, and try to gain 
his influence in behalf of his plea for his daughter’s 
hand. What course would he follow if, alas, she were 
to determine against him? What would he say to her 
if she answered “Nay” to his pleadings? He had cher- 
ished the faith, with apparent reason, that she was not 
indifferent to him; indeed, her looks and manner, as he 
spoke with her, indicated the presence of a reciprocal 
attachment in her heart. And so he pondered as he 
slowly neared her home; questioning, hoping, fearing. 

As he opened the gate, and reached the door, he 
raised the ponderous knocker; it was an old-fashioned 
Dutch door, and as he did so, the upper half swung 
open on its hinge before he had knocked ; sitting in the 
little low-studded room into which he could look (for the 
inner door from the hall was open) was the object of 
his cherished desire. She was reading, as was her cus- 
tom, the devotional service, after which her father 
would read the evening prayers. The calm, yet serious 
face impre?«sed him, as he watched its expression, and 
listened to her voice, which was clear and musical in 
its tone. The peace “which passeth all understand- 
ing” seemed to rest upon this household. The terrors 
of war had but recently swept over the lake hills and 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


139 


through the lonely hamlets of these pioneers. Suffer- 
ing and death had left their sad ravages all about the 
region, yet what peace, and what faith hovered over 
that little cottage, and dwelt in the hearts of its in- 
mates; how beautiful the life they led, the chief aim of 
which was to minister comfort and hope wherever was 
found sorrow and despair. 

As he looked upon the scene, for his presence had not 
yet been discovered, he did not wonder that the young 
daughter, so wrapt in her father’s love, and so bound 
up in his life, had questioned herself about duty to him, 
and had resisted the plea from the young lover’s ardent 
lips. What right had he to invade that home sanctu- 
ary and take from it the light and joy of the father’s 
heart? Yet his love was true; it was honorable and 
right that he should entertain it and seek its fruition. 
With this resolution in his heart, he finally pushed open 
the lower section of the door and entered. Upon see- 
ing him, both father and daughter rose to welcome his 
coming. Without embarrassment and with a perfectly 
sincere and simple manner Miss Montreau introduced 
the subject nearest to both his and her thought. She 
said to him that she had spoken with her father con- 
cerning his (Fairfax’s) wish to make her his wife. 
She had told her father of his avowal of his love, and 
with a deep blush she added that she felt in her heart 
that she also loved him; her father had insisted that 
the bond between them was sacred, being sanctified of 
the spirit; so she would consent to become his betrothed, 
but with the provision that the marriage must be in the 
distant future, subject to her own discretion. 


140 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


“Yet,” she added, “I would not hold you to such 
conditions; it seems unjust to bind you and then sub- 
ject you to this delay without leaving you entirely free 
to withdraw from the covenant if at any time you 
willed to do it.” 

Her words and manner were so simply frank, so 
wholly natural, and she spoke and acted with such ^ 
hearty homelines:-, that Fairfax was more than ever 
won to her. He put his arm about her, and drawing 
her to him, impressed a true lover’s kiss upon her lips, 
submitting, however reluctantly, to her stipulations. 

The next day, after long and loving farewells had 
been spoken between them, he took final leave of these 
associations, now so dear to him for the events that con- 
secrated them, and the loved one whom he was to leave 
behind. Again he was to enter the active and arduous 
service for his country. With slow, tedious journey- 
ing he reached the Continental army under the condi- 
tions of the protocol for exchange of prisoners, which, 
after much delay and dispute, had been finally ar 
ranged between the commanders of the two armies; 
he sought the headquarters of General St. Clair. 

The ofiicer received his old aide with evident satisfac- 
tion and not without surprise, for he had not heard 
from him since he was missed, and had almost given 
him up for dead. The campaign, under the new com- 
mander of the Northern army. General Gates, was soon 
to begin in earnest, and the fortified camp of the army, 
located not far from Saratoga, was thoroughly alive 
and alert with the necessary preparatioos. Fairfax 


DAUGHTERS OP THE REVOLUTION. 141 

quickly respouded to the energy manifested every- 
where, and caught the spirit of the coming great vic- 
tory which, before the close of the autumn months of 
1777, crowned with glory the armies of the embryo 
republic. 


f 


14 ^ 


daughters oe the revolution. 


CHAPTER XVL 

Miss Carroll, after her departure from the 
schooner, visited the prison ship, as was her first de- 
sign; she found there the various articles and provi- 
sions which she had. forwarded by another boat, under 
charge of her servant, who was faithfully guarding 
these when she arrived. She made no explanations 
concerning her delay, nor did she then speak of her 
adventure to an 5^ one. She quietly distributed to all 
whom she could reach, the various comforts and food 
at her disposal ; expressed to the officers in command 
the hope that everything possible would be done to re- 
lieve the deplorable conditions which existed in the 
ship, and used the official name of her father as guaran- 
tee for the recognition which would be given to the 
officers who should institute the needed reforms. Then, 
embarking in her boat with men and servants, she 
returned up the harbor to the Battery ; thence home. 

The shock to her system from the extraordinary 
events of the day was greater than she could have 
anticipated. When she finally reached the executive 
mansion she found herself exhausted in body and mind, 
and her nerves unstrung to a degree that she had not 
conceived as possible. Her splendid constitution, how- 
ever, enabled her to conquer this strain with the aid of 


DAUGHTERS oR THE REVOLUTION. 


143 


a night’s rest, and the next morning there was but lit- 
tle trace in her looks of the unusual trial to which she 
had been so suddenly subjected. 

At the breakfast table, her father, as was his habit, 
discoursed upon the events of the previous day, taking 
especial pains to inquire about the nrdssion which she 
had made to the prison ship. He then referred to his 
own day of extraordinary labor in company with Lord 
Southern Senior, in the preparation of dispatches and 
reports to be forwarded to the British government by 
the hand of the latter, who was so soon to depart on his 
return to England. 

There was no one present at the morning meal but 
the father and daughter. The former took occasion to 
mention the name of young Southern as a reminder of 
his lingering wish that she might be reconciled to the 
alliance which he still fondly hoped might ultimately 
come to pass between the two. A feeling of mingled 
incredibility and contempt crossed her mind, and was 
betrayed in her eyes and manner, as she indignantly 
responded to her father’s overtures wdth a detailed ac- 
count of the outrage attempted on the previous day by 
this worthless young nobleman. The story, as it grad- 
ually developed and took possession of the father’s 
mind, aroused in him feelings of intense indignation. 
His whole nature felt the shock of the startling dis- 
closure. He would have determined without a 
moment’s delay to publicly denounce the young man 
were it not that such a course would associate the name 
of his daughter with the scandalous act; and while the 


144 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


nature of the occurrence could be easily confirmed, it 
would nevertheless serve to furnish gossip for the town 
for a twelvemonth. 

He finally resolved that the wiser course would be to 
inform Lord Southern Senior, of the disreputable 
attempt of his son, and by this course secure satisfac- 
tion against the latter’s conduct, and protection from 
further schemes of the sort. The daughter, however, 
urged him against taking any further notice of the act, 
“since it had already served its most valuable lesson, in 
opening his eyes to the nature of the young man’s char- 
acter, and since, furthermore, the object of their con- 
tempt was not worth bestowing much attention upon.” 

She took this opportune occasion, however, to con- 
trast the course of the vicious young lord, who did not 
possess a shred of moral character, with the noble and 
manly bearing of Richard Andros. Her father winced 
at this mention of a name which his pride bad forbid- 
den him to entertain, and exhibited by his manner that 
he did not relish the eulogy which his daughter seemed 
so ready to pronounce upon the “young turncoat,” as 
he persisted in terming him. Again and again the out- 
rage committed by Southern recurred to the mind of 
the governor. 

He was not satisfied to let the matter rest where it 
was. It seemed too grave and too gross an offense 
against his dignity, his family, and the honor and good 
name of the community to allow it to pass unrebuked; 
yet, thinking over the effect which a disclosure to the 
father of the young man’s conduct would have on the 


Daughters Of the revolution. 


145 


former, whose pride of birth and keen sense of honor 
alike would revolt against the outrage committed by 
one who bore his name; he finally, after repeated stren- 
uous solicitations from his daughter, consented to re- 
frain from relating the episode to Lord Southern 
Senior, lest his mind would be so seriously shocked at 
the knowledge of it, just on the eve of his departure, as 
to unfit him for the voyage. 

“If you think it best for the father to be informed,” 
Miss Carroll advised, “it would be wiser to render an 
account of it by letter after he has reached England.” 

At about this time, subsequent to the attempted ab- 
duction, and when Miss Carroll had partially dismissed 
this event from her mind, she received the first of the 
two communications from Captain Andros, written by 
him in hospital after his dangerous wound, accom- 
panied by the explanatory letter of Lieutenant Monroe, 
with which the reader is familiar. Andros, it will be 
remembered, while in hospital, had written in the con- 
viction that his wound would prove fatal. His letter 
was brief, but full of pure and unrestrained protesta- 
tions of the deepest feelings of attachment. 

In addition to these unreserved expressions, he 
avowed that, notwithstanding her own settled convic- 
tions, that their love could never be blessed with an 
earthly fruition, he had always cherished the happy 
thought that they were destined to realize, at last, the 
joy of its consummation; that never a day or an hour 
had passed since their separation in which he had not 
borne her image in his heart, and felt the sweet incen- 


140 


DAUGHTERS OF* THE REVOLUTION. 


live of her spiritual presence inspiring him in the perils 
and duties of his soldier life; “but now,” he added, 
“the time has come when the moments are swiftly 
measuring out my fast waning strength. When you 
read this, I may not, indeed, I dare not believe that I 
shall be in a bodily existence. I am fighting for life 
with great odds against me. If I succeed in the fight, 
you may have the consolation of knowing that the long- 
ing to see you once more has fortified my will and 
strengthened my courage to the point of victory. If it 
be the will of the Infinite that I die, this may be my 
final farewell to my precious one. I have never dared 
to call you by such an endearing name before, but you 
will forgive me, if, in this hour of a supreme crisis, I 
set aside all idle reserve, and give my heart the perfect 
freedom of sweet, unrestrained confidings. L^tusboth 
have faith that if not here, then hereafter, we shall 
meet, and be inseparable forevermore; for God will 
bless such love in time or in eternity, whichever it may 
be; will He not, my beloved?” 

As she read over and over again this sad, yet conse- 
crated message, it affected her strangely. There are 
times when love simply lures one’s thoughts to a sort 
* of dreamy intoxicating reverie about the object of one’s 
devotion ; when it almost enervates one’s mind, by the 
captivating luxury of its wealth; when the heart re- 
vels in its rich possession, and the imagination deifies 
the image of the idolized one. Love is so sublimating, 
so intoxicating. But there are other, and perhaps, 
supreme moments, when under the powerful impetus of 


daughters OE the REVOI.UTION. 14'}^ 

a great extremity, love so exalts, even inspires, as to 
fill the sonl with heroism. While there is nothing so 
consecrating, so sacred, there is no human passion so 
energizing, so irresistibly compelling and resourceful. 
Its power is twofold ; it is like the forest stream which 
sings its romantic way through hill and valley follow- 
ing a charmed course, yet, which, if put to real ser- 
vice, can turn a mill wheel and accomplish miracles. 

So this beautiful sentiment of the heart, when im- 
pelled to actual service, nerves human hands and 
human emotions to unexampled feats, it is so imperious 
and overmastering in its devotion. 

Miss Carroll read and reread her lover’s message as 
if it were word from heaven. Her temperament w^as 
neither volatile nor impulsive; she held herself subject 
to the counsels of reason and judgment, yet, when her 
whole being was awakened through this medium of 
love, she answered its summons without doubt or ques- 
tion, and rose exaltedly to the occasion in which it was 
the dominating motive. Schooled in a position of 
responsibility, she felt the magnitude, the urgency, and 
significance of great requirements, and bore, in her per- 
son and action, the dignity and exhibition of real power. 
In moments of exigency she combined, with courage 
and resoluteness, enduring firmness and faith; so, when 
she had received and interpreted this precious message 
from Andros, w'hile her whole being felt the sorrowful 
weigh c jf the intelligence it brought, it did not paralyze 
her, nor throw her into helpless hysteria, for somehow 
she had faith that he was to live. 


14$ t)AUGHT£RS OF THE REVOLUTION. 

She must see him if living; or if dead she must 
know the supreme will and wish of his last farewell; to 
do either of these it was imperative for her to overcome 
all intervening obstacles, and dare all dangers in a 
journey to his presence. She resolved, without delay, 
on her course. At all hazards she must undertake at 
once to reach Albany. Travel thither would be beset 
with difficulties, and, possiblyj with risk to her life or 
liberty. 

No sooner had she resolved than she planned to exe- 
cute. All her faculties were alert; her presence of 
mind responded to the call. She organized with per- 
fect coolness the detail of the journey. Much of the 
intervening country was in the possession of the Con- 
tinental forces; the fortifications on the river were 
partly held by them, making travel by water very per- 
plexing and problematical. Her desire was natural to 
secure secrecy as far as possible in her plans and in the 
execution of them. She intended acquainting her 
father with the desire she entertainedj but not until she 
had matured her design. 

She selected two, a man servant and a woman ser- 
vant, to accompany her, from her own household ; 
attendants who had recently married each other, and 
both of whom had long been in the family service, in 
whose trustworthiness she could place implicit confi- 
dence. 

She wrote a brief letter to the commander of the town, 
informing him that it was necessary for her to reach 
Albany without delay in behalf of a friend there, who 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


149 


she feared might not live, and asking for such protec- 
tion and facilities as he could provide in the pursuance 
of her journey. 

It was arranged that she should travel mostly by 
land, and have an escort to accompany her, since the 
danger by water, with the constant river battles taking 
place, was too great to be risked. The course she had 
determined upon was not without its perils, but she did 
not shrink from them. She was an accomplished 
equestrienne (as what lady was not in those days?) and 
did not hesitate, as she contemplated the exposure and 
fatigue before her. How different, indeed, even in 
peaceful times, were the conditions of a hundred years 
ago, from those in the present time, in the facilities for 
travel ; yet who shall say that the advantages are all on 
the side of the present? 

When her preparations were completed, even to the 
day when she intended leaving her home, she appointed 
an interview with her father, disclosed to him her 
determination, and the reasons which impelled her to 
it. She showed him, like a loyal daughter, the message 
which she had received from Andros, frankly confes- 
sing that her love for him was the all-controlling im- 
pulse urging her to the. step she intended taking; she 
believed, that while her father would strongly, even 
resolutely, condemn her course, he would not positively 
forbid it. 

She was prepared to meet from him earnest opposi- 
tion, but she was convinced that when he realized that 
her happiness was at stake^ he Would pot resist her 


150 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


wish; but in this she was mistaken. The devotion 
which his daughter so faithfully exhibited to this 
young rebel was so repugnant to him and to his tra- 
ditions, it seemed so defiantly to ignore his earlier com- 
mands, and disregard his feelings, that he attempted, 
peremptorily, to veto the design she had made. 

“My daughter,’’ he said, in reply to her pleadings, 
“you are led away by your rasher impulses; you do not 
know what you are doing; your judgment has surren- 
dered to your emotions, and you are on the verge of 
committing a mad act which will expose you, and me, 
as your father, to bitter scandal. I cannot allow you 
to trifle with your honor and with my reputation in 
such a reckless way. With deep regret I must refuse 
your wish. You must abandon this worse than folly 
which you contemplate; as your father I forbid the 
step. You do not know how painful it is for me to 
take this position, my dear Charlotte; but there is no 
alternative, and you must not question my authority or 
my jugdment; they are both exercised for your good in 
this matter, depend upon it.” 

Her father sincerely thought that he was wise in this 
denial. He did not know, nor could he divine, the 
sacredness of the consecration which overmastered 
every ulterior thought, every other motive in her 
breast. The one whom she loved, who loved her, was 
in imminent peril, away from friends, a prisoner. All 
the heroism in her nature imperatively demanded of her 
to take her life in her hands, if necessary, to save his. 
Obstacles I there weve oone which for one moment could 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


151 


be weighed with the supreme necessity of her undertak- 
ing. When her father’s assertion of authority against 
her was made therefore, she did not grieve because 
she could not have her wish ; she grieved that in the 
pursuit of her solemn duty she had the additional cross 
to bear of disobedience to her father’s will. Not for 
an instant did she contemplate an abandonment of her 
journey; only, now that she had to meet and overcome 
the antagonism of her father, she must do so effectu- 
ally, for go she must, neither mandates from earth nor 
heaven could deter her. 

Oh, love, love, thou art even unto death! We read 
of the early religionists; of the martyrdoms which 
they suffered ; while we hear but little in these modern 
days of suffering for creeds; but the time never was, 
nor will it ever be, when the faithful lover, for the sake 
of his or her beloved one, will not suffer martyrdom. 
This father, in his incrusted w^orldly life, hardened by 
years, made by the daily burden of affairs, did not, nor 
could he, feel the throbbing pulse of his daughter’s 
passionate anguish, of her poignant grief, as she beheld 
in her vivid thoughts the vision of her loved one suffer- 
ing alone, friendless, with no blessing from her lips, 
and no appeal to his faith in their eternal union, to 
comfort and stay him in the transcendent moment of 
his being. 

Oh, for wings that might sw^iftl}^ bear her to his side! 
Silent tears were shed; not effeminate, not weak, im- 
potent tears, but such as after their shedding keyed 
the soul to higher resoluteness. She did not defy her 


152 DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 

father’s words; nor utter imprecations on bis head, but 
in the intensity of her overwrought energy, she, out- 
wardly calm, with a face of marble, pressed together 
her lips, and in spirit offered a prayer for faith and 
courage in the ordeal which she must meet without 
sympathy or comfort from any one. It was the first 
time in her young life when there had come a barrier 
of separation between her father and herself; how hard 
it was to have to suffer this tragedy now. 

As the shadows of nightfall drew near, she stole to 
her own apartment, prepared a modest supply of effects 
to carry with her; left instructions for the carriage to 
be in readiness, and by ten o’clock she and her two serv- 
ants had embarked in a fishing boat, rowed by the 
owner, to make the first short section of her pilgrimage 
up the Hudson as far as Fort Washington, at this time 
in British hands. She was prepared with passes which 
would certainly protect her from molestation where\er 
the British were in control. She had left her home at 
a time when her father was absent performing the ex- 
traordinary duties of his office, knowing that he would 
institute no inquiries concerning her that night. A 
note, written by 1 er, lay on her table to be handed to 
him in the morning, in which she resolutely informed 
him that the journey which she had undertaken was 
essential to her happiness, if not to her life. Deeply 
deploring disobedience to bis wish, on her part, she 
prayed that he would take no steps to frustrate her 
journey. Slie assured him that all possible facilities 
were pledged her for her safety in her travels by the 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


153 


authorities, and that he need not entertain any solicita- 
tions about her. A two hours’ row or less brought her 
to her destination for the night, Fort Washington. 
In response to the picket-guard of the water battery, 
her servant produced her papers, which explicitly in- 
structed that she should be properly lodged and pro- 
vided for until the following day, when the commander 
would consult with her concerning her further pro- 
gress. 

The next morning, as his daughter did not appear at 
breakfast, Governor Carroll sent to her room ; the mes- 
senger quickly returned holding in his hand the note 
found on her table, with the further information that 
the doors of her apartments were open, and that her 
bed had not been occupied. Her father seemed for the 
moment dazed ; he broke the seal of her note and read 
its contents; when all the pride of his nature exhibited 
itself in the indignant scorn which shone from his eyes, 
and flushed his face. His daughter, Charlotte, fled 
from home! She, whom he had so unfalteringly 
trusted, whose loyalty to his least command was never 
before violated I 

Gradually a deeper, calmer state of mind took the 
place of the first passionate feeling he had shown. He 
recalled ihe words she had once uttered about the 
sacredness of love; the beautiful reference she had 
made to her mother, when he liad spoken slightingly 
of the love bond. He remembered how, more than 
once, her noble, womanly nature had revolted against 
jjis cynicism in discussing this subject^ and how her 


154 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


rebuke of light speech, expressed more in her manner 
and looks than in her words, had profoundly impressed 
him. He was not a hard man, nor a weak one; un- 
derlying the conventionalities of his habits and thought, 
was a genuine and hearty regard for all that was faith- 
ful and sincere in life. His home had been founded on 
the purest sentiment of affection, and now, when he 
contemplated this disobedience more deliberately, he 
was brought face to face with the fidelity which had 
dictated it; it dawned upon him that in this very act 
he the more truly recognized the measure of his daugh- 
ter’s devotion. This, then, was no contradiction of 
herself, but a more complete confirmation of the quali- 
ties which he had ascribed to her. The love of the 
father’s heart returned and asserted itself. He would 
do nothing to interfere with this heroic exhibition; on 
the contrary, how could he serve her purpose best? 
What should he do to aid her journey? 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


155 


CHAPTER XVII. 

Miss Carroll had been provided with lodgings, 
both for herself and servants, at a small cottage outside 
the inclosure of the fortifications at Fort Washington, 
where the commander’s family was temporarily housed, 
and in the morning the problem of her journey was dis- 
cussed. She carefully abstained from mentioning her 
father in connection with her mission, but simply re- 
marked that a friend of the family was ill, she feared 
mortally, and her chief aim was to reach, and if possi- 
ble, succor him. Colonel Bassett, who was senior 
officer at the fortifications, was perplexed to know 
how to advise her movements. There was peril by 
land, and by sea alike. 

“The Neutral Ground,” so called, comprising large 
sections of Westchester County, was the prey of free- 
booters from both sides. The lines of the two armies 
were loosely drawn, and marauders frequently’ com- 
mitted midnight raids, molested travelers, and in vari- 
ous ways indulged in lawless acts. Colonel Bassett 
had been asked the day before for an escort to accom- 
pany Lord Phillipse to his manor house in Tarrytown, 
where were vast family estates under the tillage of 
peasantry tenants. 

“Lord and Lady Phillipse would arrive^ with a retinue 


156 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


of servants, at Fort Washington early the next day,” 
the commander remarked. “Would Miss Carroll join 
them, and under their protection proceed to their manor 
house?” 

This arrangement seemed a favorable one, and was 
thankfully accepted. On the next morning, therefore, 
Charlotte met Lord Phillipse and his family, and ac- 
companied them, by invitation, on the way to their 
destination. During the ride she received a further 
pressing invitation to remain at the manor house until 
means could be devised for her progress. Their ad- 
vance was slow; the distance was not over twenty miles 
to the estate, but quite a numerous body of horse was 
detailed to accompany the travelers, and large bodies 
move slowly. 

Toward the close of the day they arrived in Tarry- 
town. Entering the grounds of the estate, after cross- 
ing the Pocantico River over the bridge which Irving 
long afterward makes the “Headless Horseman” tra- 
verse in pursuit of poor Ichabod, they were glad to 
divest themselves on their arrival, of their incum- 
brances, and partake of the rest, and welcomed refresh- 
ments which the little stone mansion afforded, after a 
sultry day’s ride. 

The broad grounds of the manor house extended a 
long distance to the wide sweep of the Hudson, on the 
banks of which they could gaze over a vast expanse of 
four miles in width, across what is called the Tappan 
Zee. The scenery was wild and grand, wilder then 
than now, for the landscape, up and down the border 


daughters of the revolution. I5t 

of the river was canopied, at that period, with heavy 
forests, extending from the shore back over high ranges 
of hills on either side. The Headlands South, where 
the profile of the “Palisades” looms on the horizon, 
were boldly picturesque. Lady Phillipse, on the day 
following their arrival, had taken Miss Carroll to view 
the strikingly noble outlook, where across the plain of 
water, Nature had reared her proudest monuments of 
towering rocks, majestic memorials of the ages before 
man’s advent on the earth. The two women stood en- 
tranced before the power of it all, and for a few 
moments they did not speak. At last the silence was 
broken by Miss Carroll. “It would seem,” she said, 
“that the Creator had made everything peacefully 
beautiful in this great physical panorama; that man 
alone makes war and desolation, followed by the inevit- 
able fruit of human misery. Could we understand all 
of this mystery, and interpret the meaning of a civiliza- 
tion which evolves from such violence and bloodshed, 
we might more readily solve the problems of life. As 
for me, I think I could gladly escape the grievous tur- 
moils which these social conditions impose, and dwell 
in the solitudes, near the heart of nature, evading con- 
flicts which only serve to foster bitterness and venge- 
ance in the human breast.” 

“Ah, Miss Carroll,” replied Lady Phillipse, “we can- 
not thus escape responsibilities by hiding ourselves in 
the bush. When the old traditional prerogatives of 
royal titles and governmental power are assailed, we 
must strike down the rebel, and assert the will and 


158 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


authority of the monarch. Order and government are 
divine institutions, and the sword is the weapon which, 
as a last resort, must challenge the revolutionist, and 
administer the punishment. You do not, I hope, cher- 
ish sympathy for these hold outlaws who defy author- 
ity, and trample underfoot the sacred rights of our 
king?” 

“Lady Phillipse,” she answered, “you must know 
that I belong to a loyal family since my father is 
governor-general of this province under the seal of par- 
liament, but I do not hesitate to think for myself on 
this subject, and I believe that justice may be found on 
both sides. I would gladly see, in place of the present 
terrible struggle, the submission of the cause involved 
to a peaceful tribunal, where such grievances as the 
Colonists claim to have, should receive the calm con- 
sideration which only reason and equity can insure. 
Would not such treatment find the truth more readily 
than violence and bloodshed? The time is coming, 
indeed I believe this struggle initiates it, in this new 
country, when a more equitable recognition of the 
representative rights of the people must be accorded by 
the parliament and king. The spirit of liberty is not 
an idle sentiment, it is something which must be dealt 
with under the guidance of the principles of justice. 
Do not mistake me, Lady Phillipse, I am not a partisan 
advocate of the colonists, but I cannot believe in that 
old adage which says that ‘the king can do no wrong.’ 
If I read aright the initial steps which have led to this 
deplorable crisis, it surely might have been averted 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


159 


without a violation of the dignity of the prerogatives 
of the royal authority.’’ 

“Well, Miss Carroll,” replied Lady Phillipse, “what 
a lengthy speech you have made; why you ought to be 
in parliament. I have always believed that women 
should, equally with men, represent the people in 
public life. I cannot agree with you, but you are a 
good advocate.” 

“ITay,” said the young lady, “I do not aspire to be 
an advocate; I would rather be a judge. But I have 
almost forgotten where we are, and what we are here 
for. You are to be envied your beautiful locality on 
the border of this monarch of rivers.” 

As she spoke the thundering reverberations from the 
batteries up in the Highlands admonished the listeners 
that the monster, war, was having its innings far up 
on the giant hills at the north. The two ladies heard 
the thunder of the artillerj^ and with ominous glances 
at each other, silently sought their places in the car- 
riage awaiting them, and were driven back to the 
manor house in time for the midday meal. 

A part of the escort which had accompanied Lord 
Pnillipse to his estate as protection had already returned 
to Fort Washington, but at his solicitation, half a score 
of the soldiery had remained for a few days, the officer 
in command having instructions to subject himself to 
the orders of Lord Phillipse if the latter found that the 
safety of his household required their retention at the 
manor house for a time. 

This precaution was timely, for while this section of 


160 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


country was not occupied by either of the military au- 
thorities of the contending forces, bands of desperate 
and lawless men from either or both sides, well organ- 
ized for pillage — Cowboys and Skinners — were lying in 
wait to plunder whomsoever they could waylay, or 
wherever they could find game worth the risk. It had 
been rumored about the country that the lord of the 
manor had returned to his estate, his presence might 
mean a signal for activity in the camp of these robber 
hordes. 

The following day was Sunday, and, as it happened, 
it was the Sunday of the month when sacred service 
was to be conducted in the old Sleepy Hollow Church, 
situated within an arrow shot of the manor house. 
The circuit preacher who made the rounds of four 
churches both east and west of the Hudson River, pre- 
sided in the pulpit of the Old Dutch sanctuar}^ on one 
Sunday of each recurring month. On the right and 
left of the octagon pulpit of the old church, raised from 
the body seats, were the two thrones, occupied respec- 
tively by the lord and lady of the manor, while the 
common benches below, without cushions or backs, 
ranged between narrow aisles, held the peasantry of 
the surrounding country. The stanch old structure, 
built of rough stone with walls three feet in thickness, 
was finished in the interior in woods, with huge hewn 
oak timbers as girders, stretching at intervals from 
wall to wall. 

The sonorous utterances of the solemn-faced, unctious 
divine, the Rev. Jacob DuBois, D.D., resoiwided 


Daughters of the revolution. 


161 


through the little edifice, ou this Sunday morning in 
question, continuously through the space of over two 
hours, as he thundered forth the warnings of the Pro- 
phets, and breathed the vengeance of an angry God on 
the heads of all miserable sinners. The quavering, 
nasal voice of the choir-master rang outintwangy tones 
above the clangor of chorus and fiddles, from the gal- 
lery overhanging the heads of the devoted worshipers; 
while, without, the lord of the manor had placed his 
armed retainers to guard against the approach of any 
evil disposed bands accustomed to prowl about for prey 
on Sundays and week days alike. 

And so the primitive people of the little hamlet 
around the Sleepy Hollow Church kept with the hom- 
age of their rustic worship the hours of the Sabbath 
day, in the quiet of forest seclusion, even while the 
echoes of battle broke upon the surrounding hills, and 
men were at strife over the wide expanse of the colonies. 
It was a novel experience with Miss Carroll, as she 
bowed in prayer with these humble folk, and joined in 
their quaint hymns of praise. The homeliness and sim- 
plicity both of the worship and the worshipers stole 
upon her spirit and wrought a strangely peaceful calm 
in her soul, as she thought of the trying mission before 
her, with its unknown risks and doubtful termination. 

Traversing to and from the church, on the part of the 
residents of the manor house, was done quite in state 
in a massive English coach-and-four, with its outriders, 
notwithstanding the distance was inconsiderable. The 
lordly appearance of this equipage and its occupants 


162 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


impressed with genuine awe the country peasantry, 
who stared at the show as if it were a royal pageant. 

On the return of the company to the manor house, 
^ the serving of Sunday dinner ensued, and was especially 
noted for its elaborateness and long duration. Miss 
Carroll was quite used to these imposing occasions at 
the executive mansion in town; she would have gladly 
escaped the perfunctory part of the entertainment 
while here, where simplicity seemed more fitting, in 
deference to the spirit of the surrounding solitudes. 
The events of the remainder of the day, a beautiful, 
cloudless day, perfectly in keeping with the ideal Sab- 
bath in the country, were of the most peaceful sort, 
quite in contrast with the experience which awaited 
the household in the silence of the coming night. Lord 
Phillipse was a man of restless temperament, and en- 
joyed showing his guests all the apartments and ap- 
pointments of the “Castle Phillipse,” as he called it, as 
well as the famous grist mill which was at the date of 
this story, a hundred years old, and about which tradi- 
tion, even then, had woven many fabulous tales. 

At the time of the building of the castle by his early 
ancestors, in the first beginnings of the settlement, 
there was constant danger from the Indian tribes which 
inhabited both banks of the Hudson, and every precau- 
tion had to be taken in providing against surprises by 
these savage neighbors. It was not known at the time 
of the erection of the castle, and was kept a compara- 
tive secret up to, and including the period of which we 
write, that a large subterranean chamber connected 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


163 


with the cellars cf the house, but underlying the im- 
mediate grounds, had been excavated, solidl}^ arched 
and inclosed with stone, where valuables of the house- 
hold, the members of the family themselves, and even 
the live stock and equipment belonging to the place, 
could be securely secreted, and that the cellars were 
pierced with loopholes from which an effectual defense, 
in an emergency, could be made against the sudden 
attacks of an enemy. 

Lord Phillipse on the present occasion took much 
satisfaction in discoursing of these strategic advantages 
to Miss Carroll, and later, while they were exploring 
them, he related legends of family history, in which 
these provisions for the defense of “the castle” were 
pressed into service against its foes. 

The most notable of the legends recounted, was one 
in which his grandfather took an active part very soon 
after the castle was erected, when, one night in the 
3^ear 1690, the whole household was alarmed by the 
discovery that a band of savages had surrounded the 
house, and was preparing to make an invasion. 
Several of the male members of the family, including 
^ the peasantry on the place, were in the house. The old 
lord of the manor had taken the precaution to provide 
the castle with firearms, which were comparatively 
unknown weapons at that period with the Indians, and 
at the f r. t signal of the presence of the enemy they 
were taken from their place of concealment by the de- 
fenders, who resorted to the loopholes in the cellar, and 
kept up such a fiisilade from the various points of their 


164 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


bidden batteries, that a number of tbe savage foes •were 
made to bite tbe dust. At last tbe whole band beat a 
basty retreat, yelling vengeance on tbe unseen garrison. 

Tbe subterranean chamber, with its gloomy secret 
passages for ingress and egress, aroused the imagina- 
tion of Miss Carroll, as she groped through tbe grim 
darkness of it all, and so wrought upon her, that, on 
retiring for tbe night, she found she was totally unable 
to sleep. Visions of fierce Indian visages haunted her 
waking dreams, and kept her nerves so quickened that 
she lay on her bed a prey to these ever-recurring phan- 
toms. The old, solemn Dutch clock on the stair faith- 
fully knelled off the nightly hours, which dragged their 
slow lengths along like a procession of funereal ghosts. 

Twelve, one, two, three — what was that strange 
sound she heard like muffled voices breaking softly on 
the stillness of the night, just beneath her open win- 
dow? Surely it was nothing, only her preternatural 
thought conjuring some impossible presence, some dark 
fancy wherewith to terrorize her. Hark! she hears it 
again; this time it is accompanied by the ominous 
growling of the English mastiff which had evidently 
stolen around the corner of the castle to inspect the 
premises. She stealthily rises from her bed and creeps 
as if herself a trespasser to the open casement. The 
night had been overcast, but just as she gazes at the 
scene the moon gleams from beneath a cloud and sends 
a dim ray down through her window. Ah, what does 
she see, as she looks cut into the night? Nothing less 
than a score of weird forms; some posted a little dis- 


i>AUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


165 


tance off, at different points, as sentinels, others 
directly beneath her outlook trying to undo the lower 
casements, seeking entrance. 

What shall she do? The soldiers from Fort Wash- 
ington still remaining at the manor house are quar- 
tered in a separate building extemporized as barracks. 
The lord of the manor and his servants are in different 
parts of the castle. Her owm two servants, man and 
wife, fortunately have their room separated from her 
own onl}’’ by a narrow closet passage; she hastens to 
their door and by dint of muffled knocks and urgent, 
though subdued calls, she arouses them. Without 
delay the master of the house is reached and notified of 
the danger; confusion soon reigns; there is hurrying 
to and fro , the order is given to retreat, with arms and 
ammunition, to the cellar loopholes of a hundred years 
ago; at a signal the awakened soldiers issue from their 
barracks, and dividing their force, flank the invaders; 
the cellar batteries open fire, the Skinners (for so they 
prove to be) discover, too late, that they are out-gen- 
eraled, and attempt to escape from their untenable posi- 
tion; they soon find themselves between two fires; one 
and another, and another, drops in his steps, wounded, 
killed; naturally cowards, those who are uninjured 
make frantic efforts to escape, but they are surrounded 
and summoned to surrender. Out of twenty marauders, 
two only succeed in eluding the garrison; the rest, 
those who are unhurt, are seized, one by one, hand- 
cuffed, and taken to the subterranean chamber, where 
they are imprisoned for the night with a sturdy guard 


166 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


placed over them. So ends this little episode of the 
Kevolution, of which there were not a few of similar 
character in the Neutral Territory in which this 
‘‘Castle Phillipse” was situated. 

On the following day the captives were marched 
twenty miles to Fort Washington. Thej^ were com- 
mon thieves, cutthroats, villains of the most sanguin- 
aty sort; a number of them were murderers, afterward 
identified as such; these were tried by drum-head 
court-martial and condemned to be hung. 

Miss Carroll felt that she had had a taste of war. 
She and the other ladies of the household took charge 
of the wounded prisoners; her experience in the war 
hospitals and prisons of New York proving of great 
service to her in this unexpected duty, and some days 
were spent b}’ Lady Phillipse and herself in ministering 
to the wants of these unconscionable outlaws, disabled 
in the pursuit of their own dastardly calling. 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTIO.Na 167 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

Do not slightingly conclude that Miss Carroll, in the 
sojourn she is from necessity making at “Castle Phil- 
lipse,’’ has for an instant forgotten the overshadowing 
errand on which she was bent in starting. She could 
not hasten her journey by vain longings, and must 
needs await an opportunity for escort and protection. 
The corporal’s guard which had just left the manor 
bouse with the prisoners for Fort Washington, bore a 
note to Colonel Bassett from Miss Carroll detailing the 
encounter with the marauders the night before in the 
attack on the “castle,” and requesting from his com- 
mand a guard to accompany her on her further travels, 
urging her need, all the more clearly demonstrated in 
view of the episode at the castle. 

After delays that tried her patience and found her 
almost distracted with anxiety, the looked-for caval- 
cade from Fort Washington presented itself one day in 
mid -forenoon. The officer in command urged Miss 
Carroll to prepare for an immediate departure, as the 
company was on its way in advance of a large body of 
troops for the reinforcement of the British army co- 
operating with the war vessels on the Hudson farther 
north. Lord Phillipse provided mounts for her and her 
servants, and with farewells to the lord and lady of 


168 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


the castle, she departed on her mission again. She 
was glad that the troop was intent on making rapid 
progress; its mission, indeed, could not be more urgent 
than her own, in the slow accomplishment of which her 
patience was being tried to the utmost. 

The day on which Miss Carroll took her departure 
from “Castle Phillipse” was an ideal midsummer day; 
fortunately, quite a cool breeze fanned the eastern shore 
of the river from the expanse of waters stirred by the 
mountain airs, and from the range of hills in the north- 
west the foliage, under the refreshing stimulus of recent 
rains, was rich in color and verdure. 

Nature is capricious; without notice she changes her 
moods like any woman; she smiles or frowns; is repul- 
sive or winning as the notion takes her, and on this day 
she was lavish with favors; cloudless overhead, cool 
and radiant on the earth, it seemed a day set apart, 
bright with happy auguries. 

The little cavalcade wound its way over the narrow 
drive of the manor grounds, and slowly ascended the 
hill which fronts the old Sleepy Hollow Church and 
burial grounds, on the famous turnpike road which, 
even at that period, had been long traversed by the 
mail coach between New York and Albany. It was a 
serious question at the start whether it would be wise 
to follow strictly the main thoroughfare, or make a 
divergence, farther north into the interior, over some 
unfrequented wood pathway. The half-score of men 
constituting the escort would certainly not care to risk 
an encounter with superior forces now, while held re- 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


169 


sponsible for the safe concuct of their charge. It was 
incumbent on them, also, to act as advance guard to the 
large body of troops following after. 

There were dense woods at intervals on either side of 
the road, and places where a concealed foe might make 
attacks which it would be impossible for a small num- 
ber to resist successfully. It was finally decided to 
divide, leaving five of the mounted men to do duty 
strictly as advance guard to the larger body behind, 
and five whose sole responsibility should be to insure 
the safety of Miss Carroll and her servants. It was at 
Lord Phillipse’s suggestion, before the start, that Miss 
Carroll had armed herself and her servants each with 
a brace of pistols before leaving the castle. It may be 
safely conjectured that the five soldiers selected to 
escort the governor’s daughter were picked men who 
would do their duty bravely in a crisis, and that they 
would not find Charlotte Carroll and her two attendants 
wanting in courage if brought to the test, and so we 
will leave the little party, which has diverged from the 
main thoroughfare, to pursue its more obscure travels 
through the forest paths on its way to Albany. 


170 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

Lord Southern Senior, was about to sail on his 
return voyage to England in obedience to instructions 
from the government. He had prepared hid official 
report concerning the Colonists, giving account of their 
strength, their arms, their general resources, their 
united and determined resistance, and their present 
forces in the field, so far as he was able to estimate 
these conditions. He was sitting in his chambers rest- 
ing from the unusual labors to which he had devoted 
himself during the month past, when his son, who had 
taken but little part in this preparation of his father, 
entered his apartments without ceremony. 

“Well, father, when are you going?” he asked. 

“The vessel sails on Thursday,” the father replied, 
“and this is Tuesday, are you ready for the trip?” 

“Xo, governor, to be frank, I cannot see the wisdom 
of my returning with you. There is nothing to call me 
home at this time, and I have been thinking I would 
ask Lord Howe to put me on his staff and let me see a 
little fighting. I conclude there are to be some jolly 
times over here, one way or another, and why should I 
not take a hand with the rest of them; I am sure you 
will not object to my doing this?” 

The father was a strenuous Royalist; he was also an 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


171 


affectionate father for one of his titled class, where 
often affection has less to do with the man than pride, 
and he hesitated between his patriotism and his natural 
attachment, but finally answered: “My son, if you 
really have an ambition to serve your king, I am not 
the one to say you nay. I can only wish that you may 
serve with honor, and leave no tarnish on the name you 
bear. Is it for the love of adventure that’ you would 
enter the army, or is it an unselfish desire to do your 
share in behalf of the honor of the government?* * 

The son was too indifferent to enter into any explana- 
tion of his own rnotives, in his alleged wish to remain 
and join the army, and so he found it convenient to 
satisfy the father by proclaiming a chivalrous sense of 
honor as the chief incentive to his proposed course. 
This done, Lord Southern immediately wrote a note to 
Lord Howe asking him to “admit his son into his mili- 
tary family and give him an opportunity to see active 
service. With this in hand, bidding his father a very 
abrupt farewell, the son, with as little ceremony as 
when he entered, departed. 

It is questionable whether Lord Southern Senior, 
had a very accurate conception of the character which 
his son bore, but with the proverbial blindness of 
parents in matters concerning their children, it may be 
assumed that the father was very meagerly informed 
on this score, or if not, then his family pride kept him 
silent. 

Off from the main public lounging room of the Stuy- 
vesant Inn on Pearl Street, a brief description of which 


172 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


was given in an early chapter, was a very small pri- 
vate room often occupied by those having personal 
affairs to discuss and arrange in secret. In the late 
afternoon of the da}’ when young Southern had ac- 
quainted his father of his wish to remain and enter the 
army, he sat at a small deal table in this apartment. 
He was not alone. Stretched on an ancient, well-worn ^ 
lounge lay a young man whose appearance indicated a 
person given up to excessive dissipation. His face 
wore a hard, dissolute look, not lacking, perhaps, in 
intelligence or energy, but stamped with vice, and 
destitute of manly expression. His language was 
reckless and profane; his eyes were bloodshot and leer- 
ing; his dress careless, soiled yet not coarse; his con- 
versation indicated his familiarity with the lower 
haunts of evil and vice. His manner expressed no 
deference for the young Englishman of noble birth. 
One would conjecture that there was a sort of free- 
masonry in sin existing between the two; they appeared 
to be on familiar terms. 

Jack Foster, for such was the name of the young man 
described, after gazing about to see that there was no 
other person in the room save Southern and himself, 
drawled out, “Well, my lordy, now what did the old 
man say when you romanced to him about the army 
and military honor, etc.?” 

“Hush your tongue,” replied Southern, “what busi- 
ness is it of yours what he said, and what right have 
you to talk of romancing? Were you ever known by 
any accident to utter a truth? Never mind what T said 
or what he said, that is not what we are here for, is it?” 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


irs 


“ Well,” replied Jack, ‘‘you are d crusty this 

morning, I did think I should like to know how cutely 
you came it over him; Oh, you’re a precious one, 
aren’t you? Come now, just for the joke of it, what 
did you say and what did he say? I suppose he took 
you for a jolly fighter, spoiling to spill the rebel blood 
of the whole American booby army? He probably will 
look for your honored name in the ‘Army Gazette,’ 
breveted for heroic courage in the battle of Gory Brook, 
ha, ha, dear boy.” 

There was the smack of bold, frank knavery in the 
speech of Jack Foster, not lacking in impudence or 
humor, which was not unattractive to his associates, 
and which enabled him to command a certain following 
among the vicious and criminal classes of the town. 
He was just the fellow to organize a freebooting ex- 
pedition, and easily commanded the co-operation of 
those belonging to the disorderly class who were ready 
to scour the country around in time of war for the 
plunder they might secure. 

“Well, Jack, now attend to business. Mum is the 
word; do you understand that?” said young Southern. 

“Yes, if you say so; I think I can understand any- 
thing you are likely to say. What’s up?” 

“What do you suppose?” replied Southern. “Do 
you think I am remaining over here for pleasure or 
health when I could go to ‘Merry England’ and get 
double of both out of it?” 

“Why don’t you go?” sa5^s Jack (though if the 
latter were to decide the matter, as a source of much 


174 DAUGHTERS OE THE REVOLUTION. 

gain to himself he would prefer the young Englishman 
to remain). ‘‘We can try to worry along without you.. 
No douht you are of a deal of importance to society in the 
mother country, hut society is not much to your liking 
here, I fancy. Now out with your secret, and ["you say 
‘mum’ is the word? Do you put me on my honor, old 
hoy? Of course if you do, why then your secret is as 
safe as if in ‘Davy Jones’ locker,’ for my honor, you 
know, is — well, is heyond all price, that goes without 
saying. My credit’s high, must be, for everybody has 
my note of hand, ha, ha.” 

Jack Foster, sunken as he was in the depths of de- 
pravity, was well educated. His father was formerly 
rich, and held a commanding position in the earlier 
business history of the town. Jack was a native of 
New York, and was regularly sent to Harvard College 
in preparation for a professional career; but the loss of 
his father by death, just after Jack’s graduation, and 
after the father had met with misfortune that bank- 
rupted him, left the son, an only child, whose mother 
was not living, to shift for himself, with no family 
friends who cared to vouch for him. He was wild in 
college days, but popular and brilliant, lacking always, 
however, in ability or inclination, to see the moral or 
serious side of life, or to assume any of its responsibili- 
ties. In brief, this character sketch of young Foster 
will prepare the reader’s mind for the role which he 
will play in this story. 

It is a sad commentary on human nature that, after a 
mind has tasted of the nobler intellectual stimulus, and 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


175 


baa shown itself competent to study and grasp prob- 
lems and to sharpen itself in the pursuit of knowledge, 
it can drop to a base level, and feed on husks that even 
the swine reject. This is just what Jack had been 
doing, until it had now become second nature with him. 
A certain reckless, haphazard way of living had first 
been attractive to him, and from this the descent into 
all manner of dissipation and vice is not so diflScult as 
many would try to believe. To live and grovel in these 
forbidden things was now his chief end, and as means 
were required to keep up his dissipation, he made it the 
business of his wits to supply them. His dare-devil 
nature came into service frequently as an ally to young 
Southern’s money, for the accomplishment of many dis- 
reputable schemes in which the latter was tempted 
often to embark. 

In the affair of the schooner, related in a previous 
chapter. Jack had no hand. The clumsy way in which 
it was managed, it may well be imagined, did not re- 
flect his skill or enterprise. Southern had not dared to 
disclose to him his attachment for the governor’s 
daughter. He had, therefore, felt a certain creditable 
restraint which sealed his lips against mentioning her 
name in the company in which he so habitually asso- 
ciated. There was this redeeming trait at least, in his 
nature, that he secretly acknowledged — the purifying 
influence of love. Love, such as he could entertain 
even, commanded a certain reverence for itself, and he 
obeyed it. Jack was in ignorance of this side of young 
Southern’s experience. But the utter rejection by Miss 


l'i'6 daughters of the revolution. 

Carroll, as repulsive to her, of the attentions of South- 
ern, and her later bearing in the vessel, where she so 
effectually baffled his attempted abduction of herself, 
contributed to break the seal that had kept her name 
sacred, and now, in furtherance of another scheme 
against her, he was determined to enlist the co-operation 
and active service of Jack, to do which, would necessi- 
tate his making a confidant of him in his love affair, 
requiring a partial revelation to him of his former plot 
which proved so futile. 

It may be a matter of wonder to the reader why 
Southern, who was so wholly incapable of entertaining 
a pure and devoted passion, should, after the event of 
his total dismissal by Miss Carroll, still persist in forcing 
himself and his pretentions upon the young lady. 
Persistence is often a trait in a man devoid of honor or 
delicacy. An obtuse, hardened nature is incapable of 
seeing anything from any other standpoint than that of 
its own selfish will and inclination. It cannot enter 
into sympathy with, nor conceive as possible the enter- 
tainment of, any other view of things than that which 
it has accepted and determined upon. Southern’s love 
for Miss Carorll, such as it was, he had made up his 
mind was a sufficient reason why he should possess 
her, and her directly opposite view of the case had no 
weight with him. She must be made to understand 
that he w^ould have his own way in the matter, now 
that she had made the issue, whether she would or 
would not; and since all attempts had thus far failed 
to secure this result, he was ready to resort to any 
means, fair or foul, to force its accomplishment. 


daughters of the revolution. 177 

He proceeded to cautiously unfold to Jack so much 
of bis past relations with Miss Carroll as should, to his 
mind, justify him in the mind of Jack, in the future 
steps which be had resolved, if possible, to take, to 
secure her in spite of herself. He knew that in the 
affair of his attempted abduction, the secret of his fail- 
ure to accomplish his end rested in the absence of 
sufficient courage or resoluteness, or both, in carrying 
out his program; he was conscienceless enough to do 
anything; but had not the hardihood, the abandon, to 
force his scheme at all hazards. He was therefore de- 
termined to enlist this adventurer, this time, in his plot, 
who, he was very certain, would stop at nothing in the 
pursuit of his end. 

By some means Southern had gained a knowledge of 
the departure of Miss Carroll on the journey she had 
undertaken. He had employed one of the subordinate 
servants of the executive mansion byj bribing him to 
gain all the information possible concerning this 
absence of the young mistress, and by this means, after 
a fashion, had informed himself of the nature of her 
mission. It may be conceived, when he became pos- 
sessed of the knowledge of the object which had 
prompted her journey, that it acted as a'further intensi- 
fying incentive to his own contemplated enterprise. 
To frustrate her determination to see and relieve Andros 
in his illness and suffering, which, somehow, he had 
gained knowledge of, was certainly an additional motive 
for undertaking his project; for allied with his purpose 
to possess her, was the satisfaction he hoped to gain in 
the revenge which such frustration would afford. 


178 DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTIOISI . 

Mean natures, when crossed, are always led to seek 
revenge somewhere, and on somebody. When, there- 
fore, this young lord had disclosed to Foster the dis- 
creditable bit of his personal history as it related to his 
love affair, he unfolded his plan which meditated in- 
terference with Miss Carroll’s present journey. The 
details of this project need not be related here. That 
Jack Foster was his most likely instrument in carrying 
out this design, provided he made it worth Jack’s 
while to undertake it, may readily be imagined. In 
that little room at the “Stuyvesant Inn,” therefore, 
we will leave these two precious conspirators. 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 




CHAPTER XX. 

Wi^EN Governor Carroll had fully comprehended the 
fact that his daughter had gone; when everywhere in 
and about the house, her absence became sadly and 
daily realized, the pain which it cost him aroused him 
to his own duty in connection with it. He was a man 
of energy and resources; he did not hesitate in an 
emergency, but quickly set on foot inquiries which led 
to information concerning the course which she had 
taken. He communicated without delay with Colonel 
Bassett, commander at Fort Washington, as to the 
route she had followed on leaving the fort, and the 
provision made for her protection. He was informed 
of her safe arrival at “Castle Phillipse,” and of her 
request of the commander later for protection in the 
further pursuit of her undertaking. His anxiety in- 
creased when he ascertained that only ten mounted men 
were to accompany her to her destination, especially as 
he had received, officially, an account of the attack on 
the manor house at Tarrytown. Alive to the dangers 
of traveling on this particular course, at this time, he 
hastened to supplement the guard accompanying her. 
He at once applied for and had put under his command 
a detachment of twenty men, which be joined in person, 
and with them followed after his daughter. 


180 


daugmtjers of the revolution. 


He hardly knew the depth or degree of affection 
which bound him to his only child until she was sepa- 
rated from him in so extraordinary a manner, and then 
the real or fancied danger to which she was subjected 
preyed upon his mind to the exclusion of every other 
consideration. Ordinarily he might have delegated 
this expedition he was undertaking to another, but a 
feeling, almost amounting to a presentiment, haunted 
him, that danger lurked in her path, arfd so agitated 
his mind as to spur him to unwonted haste. He tra- 
veled the whole of the first day of his pursuit, even far 
into the night. He had reached within twenty miles 
of his daughter without knowing it when he halted for 
rest and refreshment. He had no intention, when he 
inight overtake her, of attempting to influence her to 
relinquish her errand; for he had, at last, and very 
sensibly, concluded that the resolution which could de- 
termine her to this journey, could not be shaken now. 
In his pursuit, thus far, he went on the assumption 
that her escort would naturally follow the highway, 
and hence it was on this line that he was traveling. 
On reaching quarters for the night, however (at a 
county hostelry in a hamlet nearly opposite West 
Point, on the river), he was informed by the landlord 
that a party of five mounted men had passed, about 
noon, who were then a few miles in advance of a body 
of royal troops which followed later. The leader of 
this advance guard had mentionned to him that, as a 
measure of precaution, five of his command (which had 
originally been comprised of ten) had made a detour 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


181 


ioto the interior with a young lady and her servants, 
proposing to travel over a more obscure route, the ob- 
ject being to insure greater safety to their charge. This 
news disconcerted him, and after further inquiry he 
determined to await until morning before attempting to 
trace their course. 

Meantime Miss Carroll and her escort followed a very 
narrow, primitive pathway that could scarcely be dig- 
nified as a roadway, which passed through a dense 
forest at several points on their journey. Miss Carroll 
had consulted the leader of the guard, and had finally 
employed a young rustic who was familiar with the 
country to pilot them through the wilderness. The 
plan of taking this obscure route seemed wise, for its 
very obscurity suggested safety from interference, as 
neither soldiers ncr pillagers would be likely to take so 
unfrequented a course. 

Miss Carroll was a true English girl, and was whole- 
somely fond of nature in its wildest and most solitary 
aspects. As she wound along the irregular, almost 
random pathway, now emerging from shadowy ravines, 
between bold juts of rock, and now following the rip- 
pling of the forest streams, the wildness and the 
music charmed her with their waywardness, and stirred 
within her rare sentiments and sweet imaginings which 
made her oblivious of time and led her to almost wish 
that she might find a home in these solitudes, however 
primitive, in which she could indulge the poetic instincts 
of her nature without let or hindrance. 

Nature is the greatest of all poets^ for while the 


182 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


human poet may, by chance, be able to indulge fancies, 
the deep silence and rugged beauty of forest and moun- 
tain compel the mind to inexpressible moods, and fill it 
with almost infinite longings. Love for nature is a 
passion onl}’’ a little less powerful than woman’s love for 
man, or man’s love for woman; it makes enthusiasts, 
seers, and philosophers of men, and leads the mind to 
reverent thoughts as lofty as worship and devotion. 

Miss Carroll drank deeply from this healthful foun- 
tain, and it helped to satisfy her vexed soul as nothing 
else, perhaps, could have done at this eventful time. 
Absorbed and enthralled by this influence, she scarcely 
noted the passage of the hours, and when at last, the 
sun suddenly dipped below the hills and trees, she 
awakened from her dream with a start, and wondered 
to herself where the day had gone. 

The little cavalcade still followed the wooded path. 
Seldom was a human habitation seen on the way, nor 
hardly a human being. Evidences now and then were 
met with of Indian camps, but no traces of their past 
occupants could be found. Fortunately the travelers 
had provided provisions for the journey, and before the 
twilight had deepened into evening, the little party dis- 
mounted, and partook of such food as they had, the » 
cavalrymen taking their turns in guarding the horses 
who were left to graze in an open field near. It became 
a serious question after refreshing themselves, where 
they might be able to find quarters for the night; but 
they finally, and very naturally concluded that they 
must continue to advance until they could chance upon 
some habitation. 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


183 


The moon was near its full, and as it mounted the 
eastern horizon it gave a weird beauty to every object, 
and penciled lane, field, and forest with accentuated 
shadows of foliage, clothing every object with a mild, 
silvery splendor. On and on our riders went; the 
evening was more beautiful than the morning, and its 
cool breezes refreshed and beguiled them through the 
depths and over the hills, as they wended their way, 
they knew not whither, careless of the night hours that 
came and went. They traveled thus along this narrow 
lane for miles, until they thought they perceived in the 
distance some sign of a more extended opening where, 
at least, they might dismount and rest for awhile on 
the wraps which they had thoughtfully brought with 
them. Just as they were passing through the heart of 
a dense stretch of wood, where the forest trees were 
close upon them as they rode single file along the at- 
tenuated path with the escort in advance, the leader 
was brought to a sudden halt by a man who emerged 
from the shadow and caught the bridle of his horse. 
This man was alert in his movements, and before the 
rider had recovered from his surprise he was confronted 
with the muzzle of a pistol and politely advised that 
he was a prisoner. Each horse in like manner was, 
at almost the same instant, approached, grasped by the 
reins and held firmly while a like announcement was 
made in equally calm tones to each of the riders, accom- 
panied by a similar display of weapons. The capture 
was so quietly done that resistance was not thought of 
until its attempt would have proved the height of folly. 


184 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


The loneliness of the spot, its peculiar advantage in 
favor of the aggressive party, clearly indicated that it 
had been deliberately selected with a foreknowledge 
that the captives were bound to pass through its defile. 
Whose hands they had fallen into was a mystery. 
There was nothing to disclose the real character of the 
captors, whether they belonged to either army or were 
freebooters in search of plunder. The leader of the 
band gave instructions to the cavalcade to move out of 
the wood, and when it had reached an open space of 
several acres in a rich valley watered by a winding 
stream, he ordered a dismount, instructed attendants to 
care for the horses, and led the way deeper into the glen, 
until, through a little screen of trees they saw a light 
shining from the windows of a cottage. 

Miss Carroll had refrained from yielding to the dis- 
play of fear which she had felt to a certain degree, and 
now, when they had entered the door of the cottage and 
were led into a large living room, her presence of mind 
returned sufficiently to enable her to question the 
leader concerning the interruption of her journey. To 
this he replied that these were troublesome times, and 
that travelers ought not to anticipate being entirely 
free from inconveniences of this sort when passing 
through territory claimed by both contending parties in 
the war. To this evasion she replied by asking under 
whose authority she was arrested, and to which side the 
arresting parties belonged, to both of which queries the 
leader answered that he was under orders, and at the 
proper time her case would be clearly explained to her j 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


1S5 


that be would now invite her and her party to partake 
of refreshments, and that provision had been made for 
them to remain in the cottage for the night, beyond 
this he could not communicate with her. With these 
words he and his men withdrew from the house, leav- 
ing with her an old woman, apparently the permanent 
occupant of the dwelling, who offered her services to 
perform any office which might be required tor the 
party’s comfort. A simple meal was laid, and after 
partaking sparingly of it, the three. Miss Carroll and 
her servants, retired to two small connecting rooms 
above to obtain such rest as they might be able to 
secure under the trying circumstances. 

In the silence of her room above. Miss Carroll re- 
called the events attending, and subsequent to her cap- 
ture. She had a clear view of the leader who had con- 
ducted her to the cottage, and was convinced that his 
face was familiar to her. She remembered having seen 
this man in the streets of New York on several occa- 
sions, and once in particular she had observed him in 
conversation with young Southern as she was entering 
through the gate to the executive mansion in the car- 
riage with her father; this was but a day or two before 
her departure. She was not slow in her conjectures; 
having once been entrapped by Southern she quickly 
persuaded herself that he was making another attempt 
to secure an influence over her by means of a second 
plot, of which this capture was the initial step. She 
had no Captain Stanhope to befriend her in this emer- 
gency^ and it became necessary for her to consider the 


186 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


possible peril in which she was placed. She tried at 
first, but in vain, to recall the name which she remem- 
bered hearing young Southern pronounce when she saw 
him in conversation with this man into whose hands 
she had fallen. She was sure that if she could do this, 
she would be able to make some effectual use of it in 
this dilemma. 

As she stood there, thinking over the situation, she 
observed a bit of paper in the little fireplace, it was torn 
and crumpled ; she picked it up from the hearth, and 
spread it out on the stand. It proved to he a note writ- 
ten with pencil, and read as follows : 

‘‘Jack Foster: See that every care is taken for the 
comfort of our guest, but whoever else may escape, 
don’t you permit her to slip through your hands on 
your life. S.” 

“Foster.” Ah, she had it, and “S.,” could words 
tell plainer into whose power she had fallen? She be- 
gan to question herself as to the resources she might be 
able to command as aids to her in gaining release from 
her painful situation ; but she found that her mind 
seemed dull and unresponsive. The strain upon her 
had been great for days, and this last test of her 
strength had left her weak and exhausted. Throwing 
herself upon the little narrow cot in the room, without 
removing other than her outer garments, she fell into a 
deep and dreamless slumber, from which she was 
awakened in the early dawn by the sun peering into 
th^ eastern windows of her room, 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


187 


For a moment she was confused; where was she? 
At last her situation dawning upon her, she felt once 
more the burden of anxiety, and knew that she must 
take up again the problem of her new diflSculty. Re- 
calling the scrap of writing and the purport of it, w^hich 
she had found in the chimney-place the night before, 
she resolved on a bold stroke of policy. Drawing from 
her pocket a small memorandum book, she wrote on 
one of its leaves as follows: “Miss Carroll would like 
to see and communicate with the leader of the party who 
made her a captive last evening.” Stepping down the 
stairway to the room below, she found there the old 
woman of the night before. She asked her if she would 
see that the note was safely delivered to the leader of 
the party. Just as she was speaking, as she looked 
from the window, she observed the man himself ap- 
proaching the cottage. She stepped to the outer door, 
opened it, and bravely encountering him, said: “Sir, I 
wish to speak with you.” 

Bold and daring though he was, the suddenness of 
this summons, and the fearless manner of the young 
lady, in making it, served to subdue him somewhat, 
and he replied with, for him, quite a creditable degree 
of deference : 

“I am at your service, miss.” 

“Well,” she answered, “I hope you mean what you 
say; I certainly propose to ask you for your service at 
once, to be rendered in quite a different way from the 
manner of last evening.” As she spoke, she looked 
him defiantly in the eyes. “What I have to say,” she 


188 ’ DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 

proceeded, “concerns your welfare quite as much as 
my own. I know who you are; I know your name; I 
know the man who has employed you to undertake this 
daring piece of villainy in furtherance of his ends. 
You are Jack Foster, your employer calls himself Lord 
Southern, an English nobleman, forsooth ; you are in a 
dangerous business, are you aware of it?” 

All the hardihood of the man was not sufficient to 
conceal the shock that this unexpected encounter with 
this brave young woman gave him, and the exposure 
which she was able to make of his plan. He looked 
at her for a moment and involuntarily his eyes turned 
from hers. The color which mounted to his cheeks 
was followed by an unwonted paleness; his shattered 
nerves, weakened by a life of excesses and dissipation, 
yielded to the surprise of her disclosure, and left him 
limp and trembling. ' 

She saw the advantage which her fortunate discovery 
had given her, and pressed upon him the alternative. 
“You are to release me and my escort without a 
moment’s delay,” she continued; “you are to take us 
to the pathway from which you forced us last evening, 
and leave us unmolested to pursue our journey. If you 
do this, and do it promptly, you shall be shielded by me 
from the penalty of this criminal adventure; if you re- 
fuse to do this, let me assure you that your life shall 
pay the forfeit. I shall not parley with you ; there is 
no alternative, you are to do as I say; what is your deci- 
sion?” 

“But, miss,” he replied, “you don’t realize my 
difficulty, I am acting for an — 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


189 


“Utterly detestable mnn,” she interrupted, “a man 
who will neither have the disposition nor the power 
to shield you ; who, himself, will have to answer for this 
outrage, in company with you.” 

Taking from her pocket her watch, she added, “it is 
now seven o’clock; I give you half an hour in which 
to decide your own fate; in the meantime I shall 
breakfast, and shall be ready for traveling at the expira- 
tion of the time mentioned. Please have everything 
in readiness for me and for my party.” 

Foster had no mind to become a hunted outlaw. The 
haunts of his town life were very attractive to him; to 
exchange them, with the pleasures they offered him, 
low-lived though they were, for a homeless, wandering 
existence, subject to detection and summary execution 
on the gallows, was not a seductive outlook for him 
to contemplate. On the other hand, if he surrendered 
to this young lady, he must do it at the expense of 
treachery against his employer, whose liberal pay he 
was to pocket, and whose good-will was at stake. 
Good-will, pay, and all these meant, on the one hand, 
to be forfeited, or else, what? He believed the 
governor’s daughter would be as good as her word, and 
if so, his life would certainly be worth but little in the 
future if he rejected her offer. Could he afford this 
sacrifice of himself in behalf of a man for whom he 
really had only contempt, whose liberal remuneration 
alone was the secret spring of this enterprise, as of many 
another? Pondering over the consequences in either 
case, weighing the relative advantages and disadvant- 


190 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


ages, ne had about resolved to surrender to the demands 
of his fair captive and liberate her and her party as she 
had stipulated ; but while he was thus weighing the 
pros and cons in his scales of self-interest, the gods were 
preparing for him a fate which he did not anticipate. 


Daughters of the revolution. 


191 


CHAPTER XXL 

Governor Carroll, after spending a somewhat 
anxious night at the little hostelry where he had found 
lodgings, arranged to make a very early start. He ob- 
tained information relative to the probable course his 
daughter was pursuing, and taking the additional pre- 
cautions of procuring the services of a guide who was 
familiar with the surrounding country, he renewed his 
pilgrimage. At five o’clock in the morning he was on 
his wa}^, with his military escort, hoping to overtake 
Charlotte before she would have left her night quarters 
for the continuance of her journey. 

The narrow wood path which Miss Carroll had trav- 
ersed the day before was winding and tortuous enough. 
The father had been following this with all speed con- 
sistent with safety for over an hour, when, as he was 
passing through a dense wood he met a young country 
lad, who proved to be the one employed by his daughter 
on the previous day. Somewhat confounded at meeting 
so numerous a body of horsemen in the solitary, out-of- 
the-way route, the rustic stood one side, intently star- 
ing, with mouth wide open, arms akimbo, and half-con- 
cealed by the trees, at the passing cavalcade. 

Suddenly, as if inspired by a fresh idea, something, 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 

it would seem, quite novel for the youth, judging from 
his stupid and uncouth demeanor, he called out to the 
leader, ‘‘I know where she be, she’s tooken !” 

Governor Carroll, hearing the words but not compre- 
hending what the boy wished to convey, beckoned him 
to his side, and asked him to explain. 

“She be a lady with soldiers, as I showed the way 
through these here woods yesterday arternoon. She be 
tooken by the Skinner boys, and the soldiers with her. 
Maybe I’ll show you where them took her.” 

By dint of close questioning the boy gave a detailed 
account of the affair of the previous day. Being un- 
mounted he had escaped the notice of Jack Foster and 
his followers. The boy had gone later to his home, sit- 
uated in the valley beyond, where he lived with his 
grand-dame, and found that the band of Skinners, with 
their captives, had taken possession of the house, so he 
had spent the night in the wood, and was on his way 
to carry the news of the capture to his nearest neigh- 
bors when he met the governor. 

After relating his story the boy was ordered by the 
governor to lead the cavalcade. 

They spent nearly an hour slowly and laboriously 
traveling through the narrow forest path, when, near- 
ing the valley, the boy pointed through the trees to the 
little house which could barely be distinguished, and 
informed the leader that “there was where um be.” 
Careful observation revealed the presence about the 
house and in the surrounding fields of quite a numer- 
ous company of rough- looking men, with their horses 


Daughters of the revolution. 103 

grazing quietly in the open, yet saddled and apparently 
prepared for an early start. 

The governor looked at his watch ; it was precisely 
seven o’clock. Turning to the leader he remarked: 
“Captain, we have fighting to do, I fear.” The burly 
captain of the troops responded with a hearty assent, 
intimating that he and his men could do the necessary 
work, he thought, in a very few moments. Ordering 
his followers to dismount, he secured the horses in a 
secluded spot, and stationed a guard over them; with 
the remaining force he approached cautiously to within 
fifty yards of the house. He estimated that the oppos- 
ing force numbered not over a dozen men. With care 
he succeeded in gaining an advantageous position, where 
he so disposed his command as to completely cover the 
open field in which the brigands weie actively engaged 
in preparing their breakfast. He then issued his final 
instructions to his men to follow him, and on no ac- 
count to fire until he gave the signal; forming them in 
a semicircle, so as to partly surround the camp 
ground, he deliberately stepped out before the outlaws 
and ordered them to surrender, or every one of them 
would be shot down. Confusion reigned among them 
for a moment as his men advanced with drawn swords 
and pistols, and then a general stampede was made in 
an attempt to escape. A number of the governor’s 
force was concealed at the point where the attempted 
escape was directed, and by a prompt manveuvre con- 
fronted the fugitives face to face, resulting in a speedy 
capture of most of them. Foster, as yet ignorant of 


194 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


this invasion, had gone to the house with a view to ac- 
ceding to Miss Carroll’s proposition, and to facilitate 
her departure on her journey. He stepped to the door 
just as two of the governor’s troop were placed at the 
entrance as a guard. He instinctively took in the sitn- 
i lion and made an attempt to accomplish his escape by 
means of the rear exit to the cottage, but the boy who 
had guided the troop had secured the door, and Jack 
found himself fairly trapped. 

The governor entered the cottage ; he found his daugh- 
ter there, who had finished an ample breakfast in 
time to witness the discomfiture of her captors, though 
she was at a loss to understand by what agency they 
were overtaken, not being as yet aware of her father’s 
instrumentality in the rescue. Their meeting was cor- 
dial, the daughter who had borne the responsibility of 
her position alone, now that she felt the relief of her 
father’s protecting presence, gave signs of yielding to 
the reaction which so unexpected a release from her 
diflScultj^ induced. The sudden relaxation of the nerve 
tension tried her almost beyond her strength. She 
turned deadly pale, and only by the most resolute exer- 
cise of will-power w^as saved from falling. Eallying 
' quickly, however, she seemed ashamed of her weakness. 
She spoke briefly with her father asking him how he 
had discovered her route, and also questioning him for 
the motive which had prompted his search for her. He 
answered frankly, that he had not pursued her with any 
thought of inducing her to return, but wholly with a 
wish to furnish her with a more secure guard against 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


195 


danger, and to speed heron her way. With this ex- 
planation he requested her to retire to her room for a 
brief time, as he proposed examining the leader of her 
captors concerning both the author and object of the 
hostile step. Before going, the daughter placed in his 
hands the scrap of pf^per she had found, and acquainted 
him with the course she had adopted, which had so 
nearly resulted in her release before his arrival. 

When she had retired the governor ordered the room 
to be cleared, placed a guard at the door, and sum- 
moned Jack Foster into his presence. The impudent 
freebooter entered, doffed his hat and took a seat with- 
out any evidence of embarrassment. “Jack Foster,” 
said Governor Carroll, “I am well informed of your 
character and career; among other things which I know 
of you, is this one, namely, that you do not place your 
neck in a halter unless you get well paid for it. Please 
inform me, in this instance, who your paymaster is?” 

The bandit deliberated for a moment on the answer. 
“Well, governor,” he finally replied, “I am not used 
to peeping; you would not think any the better of me 
if I gave you up my principal.” 

^ “All right. Jack,” said the governor, “if you think 
you will fare any better before a military tribunal than 
before me, under examination, then don’t answer; but 
I would advise you to make a clean breast of it. The 
matter vitally concerns me, as you know. I am en- 
titled to an answer to this question, do I understand 
you to refuse it?” 

“No, governor, not exactly,” replied Jack, “but” 


196 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


(and here the hardened criminal exhibited his Judas 
trait) ‘‘if I am to turn State’s evidence, there is a con- 
sideration for me in it, isn’t there?” 

“Ah, you want to save your own neck, do you? 
Now, Jack, I will pledge that it shall go easier with 
you if you are very frank in you restatements. I think 
you know this handwriting, do you not?” and the 
governor exhibited the note his daughter had given 
him. Glancing at it Jack changed color, cast his eyes 
about the room, then assented that he did. 

“Well,” replied the governor, “what does ‘S’ stand 
for?” 

“You have evidence in the writing. Governor Car- 
roll,” said Jack; “you know who it is; please don’t 
make me utter the name. He offered to pay me well 
for it, pledged me that no harm should come to your 
daughter, and I finally consented to undertake the 
capture. ’ ’ 

“Jack,” asked the governor, “where is Southern?” 

“He is on the coast of Long Island Sound,” replied 
Jack, “twenty-five miles across the country, waiting 
for me.” 

“Don’t you think,” asked the governor, “that you 
ought to go to him at once then?” 

“I don’t think,” answered Jack, “that he would 
thank me to, under the circumstances.” 

“Well, Jack, I guess we had better not disappoint 
him,” said the governor. “Guard, please send for the 
captain; say to him that I wish to consult with him 
here. Jack, I shall want your aid in finding him, this 
principal of yours.” 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


197 


The captain of the guard appeared, and Governor 
Carroll explained to him the necessity of the expedition 
which he contemplated making to the coast of Long 
Island Sound. Before going it was deemed expedient 
to arrange for the disposal of the prisoners. It was 
finally determined to deliver them to the nearest post in 
the hands of the British, on the Hudson Eiver, subject 
to their further ultimate disposition after the governor 
had accomplished his purpose to see young Southern. 
Steps were therefore taken to this end. Foster was 
placed in care of the guard, and Governor Carroll pro- 
ceeded to consult with his daughter with reference to 
the continuance of her journey. She listened with some 
impatience to the plan which he had in view to surprise 
Southern ; she was determined at least that the proposi- 
tion of her father should not retard her in the accom- 
plishment of her object. She was resolved to hasten 
on her way in pursuance of her plan, and informed her 
father that nothing should delay her from completing 
it. 

It w^as in vain that her father urged the importance 
of his meeting Southern and confronting him with the 
attempted crime. She said in reply that she did not 
fear traveling alone with a guard, that he could prose- 
cute his plan, but not at the expense of hindering her 
own. Finally it was arranged that she should proceed 
to Albany unaccompanied by her father. 

The anxiety which she felt regarding Andros was 
not in the least abated by these new and unlooked-for 
obstacles, which had so continually interfered with her 


198 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


progress; on the contrary, each moment of suspense 
added to the urgency of her solicitude. She was very 
resolute; her strong will had upheld her, and nerved 
her for the dangers and delays which she had thus far 
encountered ; but while she had the perseverance of a 
strong man, she possessed equally the feminine tender- 
ness, and the constancy of spirit which are peculiarly 
the gifts of a noble woman’s nature. 

These qualities imparted an unfailing incentive to the 
fulfillment of her cherished desire in the face of grave 
doubts and uncertainties. Yet when, if ever, she 
reached the termination of her exhausting travels, what 
might be the outcome of it? Would she find Andros? 
Was he living, or had he, as he himself had so feel- 
ingly anticipated in his precious letter, died in the hos- 
pital? Would that she might know the worst; she 
could bear up under the strain and trial of her journey, 
but when, after it had come to an end and she had 
made inquiry only to find her hopes and her heart 
crushed in his death, what then? She did not dare 
contemplate the sequel. Oh, what courage she would 
need to meet such a terrible ordeal! Would she be 
able to overcome the blow? A feeling of dread fre- 
quently filled her with dejection of which she could not 
divest herself; it was like a pall on her heart. She ap- 
pealed again and again to hope; she continuously 
struggled to preserve a faith which the shadows in her 
thought too often enveloped in gloom. 

In this state of mind she proceeded on her way, pro- 
vided with a more ample escort, which her father had 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


199 


insisted should accompany her. Day by day she jour- 
neyed on, meeting, however, with no further formidable 
barriers to her progress, until one day just as the sun 
was sinking behind the hills, a beautiful Sabbath day, 
she rode into the town of Albany. It was necessary 
however, for her to leave her escort behind, as at this 
period Albany was in the hands of the Continental 
forces, and her admission was accorded by the com- 
mander only on the plea of her errand, which was one 
of mercjL The object of her search was not to be found 
there. She explained this to the commander and asked 
his aid in ascertaining where the American prisoners 
of that department, in the hands of the British, could 
be found. By reference to his correspondence wdth the 
British commander concerning the exchange of prison- 
ers, he ascertained that several of the hospital prison* 
ers who were yet unable to be exchanged, were, at last 
accounts, still retained near Ticonderoga, but, be 
added. “I have an impression that most of them have 
been transferred to Saratoga, or near there, and are 
now in the British camp.” Miss Carroll, intent on her 
search, requested either a guard from the American 
array, or her own guard under a flag of truce; the latter 
w^as permitted. The next day, early in the morning, 
she proceeded on her way to the British headquarters. 

After the departure of Monroe and Fairfax from the 
prisoners’ camp near Ticonderoga, to be exchanged, 
Andros, who had daily enjoyed the companionship of 
his two friends before this separation, now felt sadly 
the iQneliness of bis isolation. Still under hospital 


200 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


treatment, confined to his cot, physically enervated, and 
mentally depressed, he spent days in solitude, brooding 
over the hard fortune which held him a helpless in- 
valid. He bad not heard from her whom, of all others, 
he had longed to receive one word of sympathy and 
comfort from. The vague fear that neither of his let- 
ters to her had reached their destination, had finally 
crystallized into a conviction in his mind , as he con- 
templated the long unbroken silence since they were 
dispatched. 

Then in another mood he would reluctantly attribute 
this silence to indifference. Could he be deceived? 
Had he ascribed to Miss Carroll an interest in himself 
which she had never entertained? Was this idealiza- 
tion of her, which, through the weary weeks took sweet 
possession of his imagination, as he lay on his bed of 
suffering, destined to be barren of fruition? Was he 
simply indulging a fond romance which would fade to 
nothing and leave him utterly disconsolate? Could it 
be? The thought of its possibility prej’ed upon his 
mind daily. Ah, if this should prove but a dream why 
need he awaken to the harsh undoing? Better to sleep, 
aye, and dream forever, than, awaking, feel the shock 
of the bitter reality. 

He would not believe her false; he had centered all 
the happiness of his life on this crowning of love; how 
could he bear now, in his bitter need, to realize that it 
did not, nor ever could exist; that it was a delusion of 
his brain, a ghost which taunted him, without sub- 
stance or heart? Andros was a manly man , biit, phy- 


DAUGHTERS. OF THE REVOLUTION. 


201 


sically Aveak, saddened, and bereft of wholesonie antici- 
pation for so long, he had at last surrendered to the 
spectres of despair. We have seen with what energy 
and resoluteness upon a former occasion he had in his 
full vigor, though stunned and sore, battled with doubt, 
and refused to accept its gloomy omens; how he re- 
sisted the cynical presentiments of a morbid fear, and 
would not permit himself to lose faith in the heart that 
he believed supremely trustworthy; but now, ah, 
would not one word of love from her have answered to 
his own, if that love really existed? Brooding over this 
long suspense, he had, at last come to the reluctant con- 
clusion that his vain hopes were 

‘ ‘ Beads of Morning 

Strung on slender blades of grass. ” 

And so in silence he inwardly bemoaned his fate, and 
even offered petitions to be released from all ibis grief 
and fretting of the spirit; that his life might go out in 
an eternal oblivion. While suffering and pitifully 
crushed with this hopeless heart-breaking, he felt a 
hand pressing his fevered brow, a soft woman’s hand 
it seemed; one which had often been very kind to him 
in many a service rendered. He opened his eyes and 
they rested on the face of Miss Grace Montreau. She 
had almost daily visited the hospital, fulfilling kindly 
offices there, as was her wont, and often she had brought 
a book and read to him charming stories, which served 
to divert his mind from sad thoughts — acting as a 
solace against the bereavement whigh so continuously 
preyed upon him, 


202 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


In the weeks of pain and unconsciousness, alternat- 
ing, during which his life had hung as by a thread, he 
had, in his lucid intervals, witnessed her sweet devo- 
tion, and when at last he had gathered strength he one 
day opened to her the secret burden of his life, and told 
her of the one who dwelt in his thoughts day and night, 
of the barrier which had kept them apart and how he 
had written her when his life was despaired of, and had 
heard nothing from her in return, that this silence was 
a never-ceasing source of solicitude to him as he lay 
there prone and helpless. 

All this he told with simple, natural pathos, while 
she listened v/ith a tenderness which bespoke the sensi- 
tive delicacy of her responsive interest. She seemed to 
almost feel the throb of his fevered pulsations as her 
sympathy went out to him in his forebodings. She 
loved to ease another’s heart of its weight of burdens, 
by sharing its sorrows with it, so kindly was the qual- 
ity of her spiritual nature. Andros, too, knew the 
secret of her heart, for Fairfax had made him a confi- 
dant in the last days of his sojourn there, concerning his 
attachment and their final betrothal. So that in their 
intercourse they were reciprocal, and spoke together of 
these things with an unreserve that made a common 
bond between them. 

One day Miss Montreau entered the hospital, and 
seating herself by the cot, said to him : “Mr. Andros, a 
letter to my father has just arrived from near Saratoga, 
in which inquiry is made about you. The writer hav- 
ing searched the prisoners’ hospital there hoping to 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


203 


find or to hear of your recovery and release, and 
having failed to gain any information is deeply appre- 
hensive of your fate. Shall I read it to you?” 

“Yes, yes, please,” he answered, “and pray begin 
reading at the end that I may know who is so concerned 
about me.” 

“Nay,” she said, “I will he orderly, I am not gifted 
in reading backw’ard. Listen to what the writer says: 


“‘Rev. Franklin Montreau, D.D., 

“ ‘Rector at Clinton Heights, N. Y. Province. 

“ ‘My Dear and Reverend Sir: I am directed to 
inquire of you with respect to Captain Richard Andros, 
of the Continental Army, who was taken prisoner after 
being wounded by the British, and according to the 
information I have received was recently in hospital, 
very criticall}’ ill from his wounds, not far from your 
residence. I am further informed that you, haply, 
may be able to communicate to me of his present condi- 
tion, if indeed, he is still living. I have surmounted 
dangers and difficulties in journeying to this place from 
New York, and am in great anxiety about the person 
in question. I am accompanied by a guard, and am 
awaiting here, where I shall remain until I can obtain 
some definite word, if possible, from you. Pray do not 
delay your reply if you can relieve my concern, and I 
shall ever be under obligations to you. Address me 
British Prisoners’ Hospital, “Camp Burgoyne,” near 
Saratoga, N. Y. Province. 

“ ‘Yours very solicitously, 

“ ‘Charlotte Carroll. 

“ ‘Dated July 25th, 1777,’” 


204 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


Miss Montreau’s gentle voice had ceased for some 
moments, and yet no word or sign proceeded from the 
occupant of the cot. At last Miss Montreau laid her 
hand on his fevered forehead and broke the silence in a 
tone scarcely above a whisper. 

“What shall my father write to Miss Carroll?” 

The name broke again like a charm upon h’s ear. 
“Charlotte Carroll. Oh, how precious,” and he repeated 
it over and over. “Did you say,” he asked, “that it was 
signed Charlotte Carroll? Are you sure? Oh, but you 
are deceiving me. Nay, it can not be.” 

And again there was silence for a space, broken by a 
brief prayer: “Father of all, Thou art good to me, she 
is mine; supreme gift of gifts, she is mine.” 

Out of a long and fearful suspense, after a great 
darkness, there had risen a glorious sun in his desolate 
soul. Living for long without a ray of hope, broken 
and despairing, a fearful joy had suddenly flooded his 
being; it was too much for him to bear. When Miss 
Montreau spoke again, he did not reply, and on exam- 
ining, she found him unconscious; in bis weakness he 
bad swooned. After be revived the letter had to be 
read again and again, until at last, satisfied of its real- 
ity, his whole nature seemed transformed. He pleaded 
that not a moment should bo lost in sending a message 
to her, and in addition to a communication from Dr. 
Montreau, he himself wrote a few brief lines to -be en- 
closed, in which he poured out the fervent gladness of 
his heart to the brave woman who had taken her life in 
her hands for his sake, not failing to express an unwaver- 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


205 


iog love for her, aud urgiog her to come to him at once. 
After thus writing, and being assured that the letter 
was on its way, and would be delivered at the earliest 
moment possible, he resigned himself to a state of mind 
so restful, yetecstatic, that it seemed to eliminate all 
pain and trouble from body and soul. He mended 
rapidly, indeed with such marvelous strides that the 
attending physician — not informed at first of the reason 
— congratulated himself on his skillful treatment. 

One week later and he was at last rewarded by the 
arrival of the long-wdshed-for one. Their meeting was 
full of evidence of the purest and most ardent love. 
Both hearts throbbed with such thanks as could only 
issue from utter sincerity and devotion. 

Miss Carroll took up her residence at the rectory, and 
daily made her pilgrimage to the hospital. Miss Mon- 
treal! aided her in many ways, and day by day the 
patient gained in strength of body and spirit, until at 
last the doctor gave formal notice that he was free from 
any possible danger. News came of the concentration of 
the forces of the two contending armies of the North 
about Saratoga. The one under Burgoyne, the other 
with large reinforcements, commanded by General 
Gates, who succeeded General Schuyler. The cam- 
paign W’as soon to open on a wider scale, when the 
question of supremacy of power would be settled either 
one way or the other, from Canada to the Hudson 
Kiver. 

Both Fairfax and young Monroe wrote in detail to 
Andros of the coming conflict with the issue at stake. 


^06 DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 

They wrote full of enthusiasm, 3’et‘both felt profoundly 
the critical consequences resting upon the result. They 
were anxious for him, that he might be able to join 
them and fight for the honors of victory, and he? His 
patience was sorely tried, but at present he was help- 
less. The old French adage, “to make haste slowly’* 
was his true course, but in one so brave and true, so 
patriotic, and so ambitious as Andros, the trial that his 
confinement involved was indeed a sorely anxious one; 
he wrote his superior in command of his condition, beg- 
ging that his command might be reserved for him, as it 
was his intention, if possible, to claim it in person 
before the decisive battles were fought. 

Miss Carroll had never before visited this region of 
country, so grandly beautiful for its vast range of 
mountains and lake scenery, and though her mind was 
absorbed with the events at hand, and with the distrac- 
tion which she naturally experienced on account of the 
perplexing situation before her, with her father officially 
identified with the royal cause, and her lover devoted 
to the Revolution; she, nevertheless, sought refuge 
from her distraction in the contemplation of the mar- 
velous charm of a country then so remote and little 
known, but now so justly celebrated for its noble ex- 
panse of height and breadth, where nature has seemed 
to outdo herself in the creation of scenery scarcely 
rivaled in its combination in any other section of the 
country. So she wandered from point to point explor- 
ing passes, caves, ravines, and mounting abrupt prom- 
ontories for the sweeping views which their summits 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. '%()1 

commanded, in this way feasting her eyes and her 
imagination on the splendid panorama which entranced 
her vision. 

Thus occupied, her mind dwelt on the influence of 
this natural heauty; she loved to philosophize about it; 
she felt that the appeal which nature makes to the soul 
is dependent upon the soul appealed to, both for the 
question and the response. We are plagued with the 
thought' that Nature has a soul, mysterious, inscrutable 
and infinitely wise, but do we not know that this is a 
pure creation of the fancy; that it is but an illusion? 
To the scientist who questions her how does Nature 
reply? Surely not in the language of the soul. She 
answers like a text hook, from germ to flow^er, from 
flower to fruit, through the orderly progression of a 
working law. She answers in the language of the 
laboratory, or in the jargon of the botanist; she takes 
up the order of the flora and formations and gives a 
technical and classified treatise on germinal evolution. 

To the artist how does she answer? In wonderful 
combinations of color, of form, of atmospheric effects, 
in picturesque, harmonious interblending of hill and 
river, of foliage and rock, of light and shade. To the 
poet, how does she answer? In sounds and echoes; in 
solitudes and dreamy visions; in moods which are the 
inexpressi ble transformations of the poet’s own, inexpres- 
sible moods, in a simulated companionship, the wooing 
and winning of which is all on the side of the poet’s 
ideal. 

How does she answer to the spirit? Ye who wor- 


S08 DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 

ship; ye who hold in awe the good, the mysterious, the 
divine. “Nature, thon art wonderful,” ye say. 
“Thou givest testimony of the Infinite dwelling in 
clouds of fire, breathing life and order through all thy 
marvelous dominion; God in the bush, God in the 
hills, God in the rivers, God in every law of formation, 
of germination. O Nature, thou art the expression of 
the Infinite Mind,” saith the religionist. 

So in these various ways each one in his own concep- 
tion, interprets Nature; it is because of her largess 
and spontaneity that she can adapt herself to this vari- 
ous range of the mind, the imagery and the spiritual 
vision. She says to men: “Come to me and I will 
feed and clothe your thoughts with a spirit and lan- 
guage, with a philosoph}^ and poetry, that each shall 
comprehend in some sense; differing as ye differ, I will 
open my book and read to each from his own chapter, 
fitted to the understanding, and to the soul of the lis- 
tener. ’ ’ 

Miss Carroll, as she reveled in this boundless garden 
of a new Eden, found the joy which her spirit craved. 
She was neither scientist nor artist, but she could feel^ 
and feeling is in kinship with both the spirit of poetry 
and prayer. We have seen her in her strong, resolute 
womanhood, we have known her as wise and thought- 
ful beyond her sex, but until now, we have not seen in 
her that underlying enthusiasm, which, while it never 
wasted itself in wild exclamation, in ripples of idle, 
shallow speech, yet husbanded its energies until time 
should ripen it; and now, here, in this incomparable 


daughters of the revolution. 20^ 

region, she gives free course to her imagination, which, 
at last, finds its wings in the solitudes of Nature, and 
reveals a poet. 

Miss Carroll had discovered, in Grace Montreal! , the 
secret of their happy companionship. Elevated above 
the conditions and environments of conventional society, 
out of touch indeed with the petty contentions and 
rivalries of selfish interests and ambitions, she dwelt 
in a realm of her own, fostered by the vital belief, 
which she endearingly cherished, of a direct spiritual 
affiliation of her soul with the truth of the God of her 
faith. The superiority of her life above that of the 
women of the world Miss Carroll correctly attributed in 
part to her closeness and soul-communing with Nature. 
There w^as an affluence in her faith and an utter sur- 
render to its lead in her daily course to that degree that 
her life seemed to be crowned with a spiritual nimbus; 
seeing this Miss Carroll felt the influx of this virtue, 
and gladly, ay, heartily, allied herself with the new 
friend’s consecration. 

Much as Miss Carroll respected her father, strong 
as were the filial ties binding her to him, there were 
stronger ties holding her where she was. She had 
written to her father of her safe arrival, in a note for- 
warded by her escort which returned after she had 
safely reached her destination, but now she must write 
in full. She had, even from the first dawn of the 
Revolution, a little of the rebel in her; it bad gradu- 
ally gained in strength until it had leavened her whole 
mind, she could no longer join in sympathy with her 


^10 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


father in behalf of the royal cause; her hope and 
prayer was for the success of the Ccntinental army. 

Dominated by this wush bow could she return to New 
York, that center of provincial royalty, and simulate 
a part which she could not feel? All this conflicting 
emotion, this questioning and cross- questioning of her 
conscience respecting her duty, her ties, her affections, 
her loyalty, was pressing upon her daily, sometimes 
confounding her judgment and confusing her moral 
sense, sometimes even raising within her a defiant 
mood. How to write to her father, now that she felt 
that she must not delay doing so longer, troubled her. 
What could she write him concerning her change of 
heart that would not offend his pride and arouse his 
indignation? But write she must; and so she set about 
doing it in this wise. 

“ Clinton Heights, N. Y. Prov., 
“August 12, 1777. 

“My Dear Father: You know by a previous line 
from me that I found the person for whom I came in 
search, grievously ill, having barely escaped death 
from a cruel wound. Captain Andros is here too weak 
and helpless to be removed, and thus, sorely against 
’ his heart, disabled from doing active service in the 
field. This enforced idleness serves to aggravate his 
suffering. His wound, which proved so nearly fatal, 
heals very slowly. Through the interest felt for him 
by the mission rector stationed here, and thiough the 
manifest personal attachment of the army hospital sur- 
geon at the post, he is under the most faithful care; 
everything indeed is being done for him, and we hava 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


211 


the professional assurance that he will ultimately re- 
cover; yet while he is suffering from this extreme 
weakness and still critically ill, I cannot leave him. 
You know, dear father, why I cannot; he is dearer to 
me than life, and I must remain until he is recovered. 
Do not think that I am wasting my time; nay, you 
would not think so hard of me as that, I am sure, 
knowing me. I am living in the rectory, the occupants 
of which consist of the father and daughter. The Rev. 
Franklin Montreau and Grace. The latter is younger 
by two or three years than I am, but such a lofty 
spirited, womanly girl, devoting her life and energies 
to ministrations for the poor and comfortless, the sick 
and aged of the parish 1 She fills me with a sense of 
shame for my own petty standards of living. I have 
joined her in her noble work. While her father and 
herself are in hearty accord with the cause of the 
Colonists, they are so consecrated, above all, to their 
self-sacrificing service here, that, although the com- 
mander of the British army is in control in this whole 
section, he is one of the rector’s fast friends, and trusts 
him in all things in connection with bis sacred office 
and civil influence. 

“I do not ask you what course you may have adopted 
in relation to that dissolute Lord Southern for whom 
you were going in search ; his character is so worthless, 
and I have such an aversion for his very name, that I 
cannot feel curious as to the disposition you have made 
of his case. I can not help feeling, however, that he is 
not worth giving you much trouble, and I hope you 
will neither waste your energies nor authority on him. 

‘•Father, may I tell you how I feel concerning this 
war? My convictions are based, first of all, on what 
seems to me the justice involved in the cause of the 
Revolutionists. Dare I tell you that I believe in that 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 

justice, and furthermore that I believe in the success of 
the cause? I have a presentiment that the God of 
Battles is on their side, and that the British force will 
never succeed in subduing the colonies; but whichever 
side is in the right may God defend it, is the prayer of 
“Your affectionate daughter, 

“Charlotte.’’ 

The somewhat constrained tone of this letter, its 
abruptness and its lack of a daughter’s free expression, 
as Miss Carroll read it over, differed so markedly from 
her general bearing always toward her father, that she 
almost felt guilty of a wrong to him, her father, whose 
heart was so loyal to her. The confession which she 
had made of her convictions about the war, which con- 
victions she knew would fill her father with mingled 
feelings of anger and sorrow, unquestionably accounted 
for the change in tone in the letter, of which she was so 
conscious. How could she remedy this? The hurt 
which her father would feel, she too, doubly felt; 3’et 
could she keep him ignorant of the change? Was it 
not her duty to him and to herself, alike, to frankly 
acknowledge her new allegiance, and prepare him in 
these stern war-times, for the issue which this confes- 
sion would involve? It was not the first time that war 
had divided families, had sundered homes; if it must 
come, it must. 

In this way she thought out the broken relations that 
were likely to transpire between her father and herself, 
and her heart was sore with dread of the coming rup- 
ture which would effectually separate her from his lovo 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


213 


aud care. A strange situation it would indeed leave 
her in, for he was her only near kin this side the ocean; 
her natural protector, and she? She was his chief love. 
What a blow this new development would be to him 
as sadly, day by day, he would go about his duties, tak- 
ing up the weighty affairs of his office. 

She tried to analyze the motive at the heart of this 
judgment. Could it be that her absorbing love, now so 
confirmed and unchangeable, for Eichard Andros, bad 
unconsciously w^orked this change of conviction? 
“The mind of woman,” it is said, “is under the domin- 
ion of her heart;” but Miss Carroll took pride in her 
independence of judgment. It had been said of her by 
those who knew her, that “she had a masculine order 
of reasoning; could look at things impersonally, judi- 
ciall}’.” She liked to think that she could. 

What would her father say about this course which 
she had taken, and of the influence which had con- 
trolled it? She believed that she was unbiased by con- 
ditions; but her father would be skeptical; should she 
contend with him, try to convince him? It would be 
useless, a waste of argument and time. No, she would 
defer all attempts of this kind until occasion should 
favor her. She somehow had faith that he would be- 
lieve in her honesty of motive, her integrity of con- 
science, and so she must abide by it, and let it all rest 
on this faith ; and she did. 

She had known John Fairfax, incidentally at least, 
in New York. She had learned of his attachment to 
Grace Montreau through the frank avowals of the 


214 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


latter, as well as through her conversations with 
Andros; and was heartily in sympathy with the fact 
itself, and with the relations leading up to it. She saw 
with what calm courage and resignatio j Grace bore 
the separation from him ; the perils surrounding him 
might at any time rob her of him, but she took this, 
like all things else in life, on pure faith. The peace of 
mind which characterized her daily life imparted 
something of its serenity and grace to Miss Carroll in 
the midst of her perplexity and distraction. 

In this way, by virtue of their intimate associations, 
she gained greater tranquillity of mind and spirit, and 
rested more securely and cheerfully in her faith. “God 
is good,” she would say to herself, words we may often 
conjure with even as we realize the terrible trials to 
which human souls are subjected. Is there not consola- 
tion in the saying “God is good?” Miss Carroll found 
such consolation, and was happy in making it her 
habitual form of prayer, if we may call it prayer, a 
simple enough form, surely, and one which many 
might profitably employ who indulge in much more 
elaborate ones. 

Day by day she surrendered her time and heart, in 
company with Miss Montreau’s, in efforts to soften and 
better the barren lives of many poor souls^ destitute of 
all resources by which to better themselves. She had 
always entertained the conviction, and in many ways, 
in her New York life, acted upon it, that the opportu- 
nities she possessed were given in trust, to be used by 
her for the relief of all whom she could reach and bene- 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


215 


fit, but never, until now, had the full meaning of this 
idea, trite as it may seem, impressed her. The spirit 
of such a principle, dominating a nature like Miss 
Carroll’s, with a conscience acute and compelling, must 
have full sway. She had seen it molding the char- 
acter and elevating the life of her new companion. 
Association with purity, sympathy, charity and pity, is 
just as effectual for good, as association with impurity, 
selfishness, hard-heartedness, and all manner of vice, 
is for evil. The good and great natures in the world 
have been nourished with wholesome soul food to begin 
with, else they could never have become good or great, 
so Miss Carroll accepted this principle and made it the 
religion of her motives. 

If she could have foreseen the service to which she 
was destined, she would have valued this probationary 
schooling as inestimably precious in preparation for her 
further dedication of herself. As it was, her present 
experience contributed to divert her mind from dwelling 
upon troublous thoughts which were full of solicitude, 
and it w^as fortunate that her present duties employed 
and absorbed to a degree her emotional feelings. 
More exacting responsibilities were ere long destined 
to fall to her lot, and enlist all of her energies in a 
wider field, associated, as now, with her companion, 
w’hose beneficent spirit was a daily incentive to her 
own. 

When one is foreordained to sustain an untried 
weight in some divinely appointed sphere, it often ap- 
pears as if a preparatory course of tuition were 


216 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


arranged by an ordering which one can neither foresee 
nor resist, which shall discipline the life for the coming 
service. Moses had his prophetic years in the wilder- 
ness, and there is many a modern Moses in the latter- 
day history. 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


217 


CHAPTER XXII. 

When young Southern met his dissolute companion, 
Jack Foster, in the room of the Stuyvesant Inn to con- 
spire against the person of Miss Carroll, it was his 
brute nature which suggested, as on the former occa- 
sion, some, or any device which would serve him to 
accomplish his end. His ultimate intention was to 
make her his wife, and since he could not persuade her 
to this step, he would not scruple to force her to it. 
Haunted with the spectre of his first failure in this line 
of procedure, he now resolved to place the matter in 
more skillful hands. So he finally confided his scheme 
to Jack Foster, and stipulated with him for certain 
pounds sterling to deliver into his power the young 
lady. 

As has been seen, the event of her journey north was 
made the basis of a plot for the accomplishment of his 
aim. 

Jack was to secure the best information of her move- 
ments possible, and be prepared at some advantageous 
point in her route to intercept her and deliver her over 
to his employer. 

Lord Southern was to fit himself out, as before, with 
a vessel which he would have in readiness at a stipu- 
lated time aud place on the north shore of the Long 


218 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


Island Sound to receive her from the hands of her cap- 
tor, and, will or nil, to undertake the sea voyage which 
he had vainly attempted before. 

The reader is familiar with the course of events which 
frustrated this scheme. Lord Southern waited for news 
from his bold and reckless agent. He had anchored 
his vessel in a little inlet not far from Greenwich on the 
Sound coast, where Jack Foster, his prize secured, con- 
templated meeting him. When no Jack appeared, nor 
any message from him, a suspicion crossed the mind of 
Southern that, possibly, all was not right; yet he con- 
sidered that under any conceivable circumstances, he 
could remain where he was in perfect security, without 
detection, and quite safe from any prying gossips or 
intruders who might undertake to meddle with his 
plans. After spending nearly a week in suspense he 
was surprised and completely disconcerted on the 
morning of the sixth day of his anchorage to'see a boat 
starting from the shore, about a mile from his vessel, 
in which, through the aid of his glass, he could dis- 
tinctly recognize Jack, accompanied by a guard of 
soldiers completeh^ armed, as if prepared for some 
hostile demonstration. 

He instructed his skipper to instantly prepare the 
vessel for sailing. Orders were accordingly given, sails 
were hoisted, the anchor raised without waste of time, 
but before any progress could be made, the captain of 
the force in the boat, now within a quarter of a mile of 
the vessel, ordered the captain of the schooner to await 
his arrival, as he had instructions tp board hpr. The 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


319 


trepidation which was now manifest in the case of South- 
ern was doubly acute. “Conscience makes cowards of 
us all,” but a guilty conscience was not necessary for 
the exhibition of cowardice in him; he was the pos- 
sessor of a full share of that commodity by nature; yet 
it was in evidence, all the more clearly on this occa- 
sion because of his sinister intentions. 

He anxiously appealed to the skipper to give the ap- 
proaching boat the slip, and sail away without notice, 
but, as if divining his plan, the captain of the force in 
the boat ordered his men to raise their muskets and 
cover the men in the schooner, after which he calmly 
communicated to Southern that he need not attempt to 
escape, as he, the captain, would not permit it. 

Ten minutes later and the boatload of soldiers were 
in command of Southern’s little vessel, when orders 
were quietly given to make sail for New York without 
any unnecessary delay. Southern had not observed 
that Governor Carroll was one of the occupants of the 
boat, and the latter had quietly withdrawn from notice 
the moment he reached the deck of the schooner. 
When, however, the two finally met, it was the 
governor who took the initiative in opening communi- 
cation with his prisoner, for such Southern now really 
was. 

The long friendship existing between Lord Southern, 
Senior, and Governor Carroll tempered somewhat the 
language of the latter to the unscrupulous son of the 
earl, hut the cause of indignation w^as too flagrant for 
friendship, even, to play a conspicuous part in softening 


220 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


the impeachment to be made. “Young man,” began 
the governor, “will you please lead the way toa private 
apartment iu your vessel where we can hold conversa- 
tion uninterrupted by a third party?” 

Southern looked the governor in the eye for a moment, 
and concluded it would be folly to interpose any objec- 
tion to the request. The governor follow’ed him down 
into the cabin of the schooner, and after they were 
seated, opened his battery upon the culprit. 

“Sir, you have, I presume, readily conjectured that 
lam fully informed of your precious, dastardly conduct 
toward my daughter in your earlier futile attempt to 
abduct her from her home. My presence here to-da}^ 
doubtless, also sufficiently acquaints you with the fact 
that in the present instance, your villain}^ has again 
been frustrated. I have assumed the office of public 
prosecutor, and have, upon this occasion, ordered your 
arrest. You are now a prisoner in my hands, and I 
purpose making such an example of ycu as will prove 
a warning to all who would recklessly transgress the 
law and order of society.” 

At the word “prisoner” the nerve of the young man 
seemed to collapse; this complete reversal of his antici- 
pations wuth his arrest in addition, had come so sud- 
denly upon him, and the prospect of a relentless expos- 
ure of his repeatedly attempted high-handed outrage, 
was at once so appalling and humiliating to him, that 
his face became ashy pale, and his whole demeanor so 
abjectly suppliant that the governor felt he was deal- 
ing with one who was hardly worth the prosecution, 


Daughters of the revolution. 221 

When the latter undertook to confront Southern with 
the specific charges of Lis crime, he fell on his knees at 
the feet of the governor and pleaded in such an imbe- 
cile, baby-like manner, confessing everything and attrib- 
uting all to his love for Miss Carroll, that it was 
with great restraint the governor was deterred from 
rising from his seat and leaving the coward to say his 
prayers to the vacant chair. He, however, controlled 
himself long enough to order the young man to rise 
from his knees and listen to him. 

“You are to go to New York with me,” the governor 
said, “you are to write out, in full detail, a faithful 
account to your father, of your repeated attempts to 
forcibly abduct my daughter and detain her in your 
power; you are to further say, in your confession how, 
in the last expedition, you were detected by me, and 
held by my orders; furthermore, that I have put you 
under restraint for the present. When you have com- 
pleted this paper you are to submit it to me; after ex- 
amination I shall forward it to Lord Southern Senior, 
accompanied by an explanatory letter, in which I shall 
advise him that I have arranged for your passage to 
England. It is needless to say that I shall not permit 
you again to have your freedom while here, and 
that your sailing for home without delay will be 
imperative. Are you prepared to assent to these stipu- 
lations?” 

The humiliation which they involved did not seem to 
have much effect on this scion of one of the eighteenth 
century English nobility; on the contrary, he seemed 


222 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


glad to escape from the hands of the governor on these 
onerous tsrms, even requesting, simply, that he might 
be spared from any public announcement of the offense 
and the penalt3^ It being the wish of Governor 
Carroll to shield his own daughter from the cruelty 
which such publicity would involve, he assented to this 
request. 

The governor acted promptly on the plan outlined. 
He forwarded the confession of the son and his own ex- 
planation by the first vessel sailing, and arranged with 
the officer of another one, which followed within a few 
days, to take .voung Southern aboard. The dispatch 
with which he hastened the departure of the latter was 
characteristic of the governor when once he had resolved 
on a course of proceeding, for he was a man of energy 
and decision when aroused. To Jack Foster he sub- 
mitted the alternative of enlisting in the army, or being 
imprisoned. As Jack was reallj^a man of courage and 
resource, he very naturally selected the former condi- 
tion as the lesser evil, although a curtailment of his 
customarj’ liberty, either in camp or prison, w^ould 
prove a deprivation which he would gladly have 
avoided if possible; j^et Jack could submit to the in- 
evitable with very proper and accommodating grace. 

Now that Governor Carroll had finally disposed of 
young Southern with all that his conduct had entailed, 
he felt more than ever anxious to hear from his daugh- 
ter. The pressure of the public affairs belonging to his 
office, which he had of necessitjq slighted somewhat 
duriug the past week, forbade his following after her, 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


223 


as he would have done from choice. He received her 
brief note through the guard which escorted her some 
days subsequent to his own arrival home, which assured 
him of her safe conduct to her destination, but it was 
nearly a month later before the more important com- 
munication which is quoted in a previous chapter, 
reached him. 

Its contents created a degree of mental disturbance 
which he found it very dijBQcult to calm. It gradually 
dawned upon him, as he carefully perused and re- per- 
used this latter revelation from his daughter, that he 
was indefinitely separated from the one whom he most 
dearly loved. Reading between the lines he could 
clearly discern that his resolute child had determined 
on a course of duty which would deprive him hereafter 
of her presence and aid, as mistress of the executive 
mansion. She saw clearly, as a matter of conscience, 
where her obligations rested, which she must accept. 
He knew that no influence of his would avail to dis- 
suade her from a course which her conscience had dic- 
tated. This loss of his daughter was, and might well 
be, a severe affliction. Not only was she to be absent 
from him, but clearly her sympathies w’ere alienated 
from his own in his public and official life. 

At first it seemed extremely difficult for him to recon- 
cile himself to this new cross which he must take up. 
He could no longer think of her with that unreserved 
satisfaction which he had felt in the years past; some- 
thing had gone out of his life which could never be re- 
deemed ; hopes which he had cherished, ambitions con- 


224 DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 

cerning her which he had indulged in, must be 
abandoned. There is a period in the age of a man, if 
he is thwarted in designs which have formed a part of 
his scheme of life, when he finds himself powerless to 
transfer his hopes and ambitions to other objects, or 
turn his energies into other channels. Youth and 
young manhood retain their elasticity ; if checked in 
one course, or disappointed in one fond dream, they 
have the happy faculty of commanding their resources 
for new enterprises, or of directing their hopes toward 
some more feasible goal. But age stiffens one’s intel- 
lectual joints; the time comes when these turn hard on 
their hinges, and wrench one with pain if put to ex- 
traordinary use. 

So it is with the affectional nature. The years will 
so set the heart that when it is suddenly confronted 
with change, it is shocked and paralyzed. Then it is 
that pathos in human lives is deepest and most tragical. 

Old men are fixed and unchangeable in their 
objects of regard and affection, while the young life 
is fluctuating, mobile, buoyant, surviving the shocks 
with an elasticity, which while it is a sign of super- 
ficial feeling and experience, is yet, in its way, quite 
felicitous. 

The shock which came to Governor Carroll with the 
loss of his daughter’s presence and solace was lasting; 
he knew that henceforth something which had departed 
“would never come again.” She had transferred her 
allegiance; she had ceased to accept his jugdment, or 
his injunctions; all this preyed upon his heart and cor- 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


225 


roded in his breast. He would gladly have leaned on 
her; made her his confidante; but now he must forego 
all of these considerations, and learn to live without 
her. 


m 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION 


CHAPTER XXIIL 

The autumn of 1777 was a period in the history of 
the American Revolution, freighted with fortunate re- 
sults to the colonies. The war had been generally dis- 
heartening to the Colonists during the campaign of 
1776-7 until the brilliant victories which marked the 
defeat of Burgoyne in the North. These aroused a 
fresh, and much-needed enthusiasm both in the army 
and with the people. 

The successive battles during September and October 
of 1777 at Bemis Heights, which determined the issue, 
were contested with great energy and spirit, covering 
with glory the participants on both sides. 

We left Captain Andros in August, just preceding 
these contests, a prisoner in the hospital near Ticon- 
deroga, too ill to be transferred or exchanged, but with 
the care he was receiving, supplemented by his pressing 
desire to join in the coming campaign, he gained so 
, rapidly that in the early part of September, at his 
urgent solicitation, he was transferred to the British 
prison camp at or near Saratoga, where he was soon 
enabled to gain his freedom through an exchange, and 
report for duty before the 19th of September, tbe date of 
ihe first of the series of conflicts at the point named. 
Andros returned to his regiment, was restored to the 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 227 

command of his company, and participated in the en- 
gagement of that day. 

After the battle was over he met, for the first time 
since his transfer from the North Lakes, his dear 
friends Monroe and Fairfax, who were also in the thick 
of the day’s fight. The meeting was one to be remem- 
bered, and they celebrated it, even after the exhausting 
excitement of the day, until far into the night. The 
mutual love between soldier- comrades is touching, bap- 
tized as it is in the fiery ordeal of the battlefield, and 
where there is added congeniality of tastes, education 
and sympathy, the links are doubly welded. 

These three friends were thus bound in unison. 
Their meeting at this time, after the triumph on the 
day’s battlefield, furnished material for an infinite 
fund of talk, and set free a flow of spirits that stirred 
and elated their hearts. They were together again, 
alive and unharmed. Ah, what interchanges of con- 
fidences took place concerning absent ones so dearlj^ 
present in the thoughts of two of them at least. 

When Andros and Fairfax wrote their respective 
accounts of the day’s events to their beloved ones, 
awaiting far away for the news, good or had to come to 
them, they were able to do so with a sense of devout 
thankfulness for their safe deliverance, personally, and 
for the general result so favorable to their cause. 

This struggle of the contending forces was not final, 
however. The two armies rested and prepared for the 
second duel which ocurred on the 7th of October. This 
last day’s work was grave in its consequences; two of 


228 DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 

our young heroes, Andros and Fairfax, were struck 
down, sorely wounded; the one by a bullet, the other 
by a saber cut. They were borne from the field to the 
same hospital, and were under charge of the same sur- 
geon. They lay in their hospital beds prostrated from 
fatigue and loss of blood, much of the time in a condi- 
tion of gemiconsciousness. 

Delirium and fever aggravated the case of Andros, 
who suffered from the wound of a bullet. His previ- 
ous long confinement and suffering had undermined his 
constitution, and followed now, so soon, by another 
shock from loss of blood, and the poison which his 
wound threatened, he was illy prepared for this second 
crisis. It devolved upon Monroe to arrange for sending 
messages to both Miss Montreau and Miss Carroll; but 
before he could despatch these on their way, the two 
young ladies in question were reported as having ar- 
rived in camp. 

They had resolved after the first battle-da}’, Septem- 
ber 19th, to journey to the field and offer themselves for 
hospital service, knowing the pressing need for such 
aid. Their previous experience recommended them, 
and they were at once offered the charge of the nurses’ 
department of the main hospital of this northern divi- 
sion of the Continental army. As yet they had not 
seen Monroe, and were uninformed about the two dis- 
abled young men. It was, therefore, a painfully try- 
ing ordeal to them, when, while inspecting the hospi- 
tal, to discover both Andros and Fairfax wounded and 
helpless in their cots. 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


229 


As these two young women stood over them, gazing 
into their faces for recognition, Fairfax alone knew 
them, and gave an exclamation of joy; Andros was de- 
lirious. 

The provision for the care of the wounded in hospi- 
tal, after a great battle, is necessarily inadequate; many 
die from the need of timely attention and treatment. 
Wounds which should be dressed without delay are 
neglected until too late, and many a victim is thus 
sacrificed to this unavoidable exposure for want of care. 

The condition of Andros was extremely critical; the 
ball had penetrated near his lungs and had inflicted a 
very serious wound, difficult to be reached, and threat- 
ening in its consequences. The surgeon, when ques- 
tioned by Miss Carroll, shook his head doubtingly; evi- 
dently the case was desperate ; as she bent over the pros- 
trate form and pallid face of the sufferer, an impulse 
of sudden despair took possession of her, and almost un- 
consciously she gave expression of her grief in wild 
words of endearment that were heart-rending in their 
intensity. 

Could it be possible that she had reached this scene of 
suffering only to And the one whom of all the world 
was dearest to her heart, about to be cruelly snatched 
from life? Oh, why need he have entered on the field of 
death again and again until he should become its 
chosen victim? She pressed her lips to his as he lay 
there quite unconscious of her piesence, mercifully lost, 
temporarily, to the torture of pain which awaited his 
revival. 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


2:i0 


In the work of charity to which she had devoted her- 
self during the past months in company with Miss 
Montreau, she had learned to utter many a comforting 
prayer at the bedsides of the invalid and aged; and now 
in her sore distraction, how natural that the language 
of petition should form on her lij)s, and give expression 
to the intense longings of her heart for the deliverance 
from death of this one so precious to her own life. 
Such pleadings as she offered could only come from one 
full of faith and fear. The presentiment of the coming 
shadow gave an inexpressible poignancy and energy to 
her suppliant soul, all the passion of her strong nature 
was unreservedly poured out in a torrent of emotion. 

Miss Montreau, who stood near her when she first 
discovered Andros there, moved silently away from 
this tragic meeting, awed by the solemnity and power 
of her friend’s grief. The case of Fairfax, fortunately, 
was one accompanied with no serious danger; a saber 
cut, ugly but not fatal, penetrated his shoulder; the 
flesh wound was painful but easily treated, so that the 
meeting between him and Miss Montreau was unaccom- 
panied by the gloom and distress of sad forebodings. 

Fairfax was deeply affected by the imminence of his 
friend’s case, which, until now, had not been communi- 
cated to him. The thought of Andros’ peril hoG, 
startled and stunned him. He urged if possible that 
the most eminent professional services might be pro- 
cured, that nothing should be left undone to save his 
life. The surgeon attending, however, assured him 
that no skill could do more than he was doing, and he 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


231 


pledged his most faithful and devoted attention, sup- 
plemented by that of other attending physicians, some 
of them the best known in the profession in behalf of 
Captain Andros. 

It is needless to say that Miss Carroll received un- 
qualified permission from the authorities to devote all 
her services as nurse to his case. As the days came 
and went, with what infinite patience did she attend 
upon his every need. When, after several da3^s of de- 
lirium, his mind at last became sufficiently lucid to dis- 
tinguish who it was that sat by his cotside daily and 
hourly, there was a restfulness and solace imparted to 
his spirit which would, if anything could, have turned 
the balance in his favor; but neither human skill ncr 
human devotion could change the decree cf fate already 
pronounced in his case. 

Slowly but surely the fatal hurt worked with insidi- 
ous energy through his mortal frame. Slowly but 
surely, as the days passed, it mastered his powers of 
resistance, until on the night of the loth of October, the 
struggle ceased, and the fire, already burned to emberS; 
finally expired. 

When he at last realized that his doom was so near, 
there was a tenderness and spiritual beauty exhibited in 
his thought and words that, for exalted faith, almost 
made his deathbed a moment of triumph to all who 
were there to witness it. To Miss Carroll he gave such 
evidences of his love, so sweet and sacred in their mes- 
sages, a§ lightened the desolation which shrouded her 
soul, 


232 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


Long after the spark of life was extinguished she 
rested her head on the pillow by the side of his, repeat- 
ing to herself the last utterances to her which had fallen 
from his lips, reiterating his love, the earthly joys of 
which had now ceased forever. After hours of sad 
yet sacred comnmnings with her spirit, the dread real- 
ity seemed suddenly to dawn upon her, she arose, bent 
over him and impressed one lingering kiss on his cold 
marble forehead ; then she spoke her farewell parting 
to his unheeding ears, and withdrew, crushed and un- 
comforted, from the presence of Death. 

A few days were devoted to preparation for the 
solemn rites of hurial, and when the sad service was 
fulfilled, Miss Carroll began to realize in her daily life 
the desolation attending the irreparable loss she had 
suffered. It seems like presumption to attempt a de- 
lineation of the inward experience of one called upon to 
meet so enduring and heartrending a sorrow. The 
radical change inevitable under such conditions, not 
only in the outward circumstance but in the soul-life 
of one whose anticipations for the future have been 
ruthlessly shattered, seemed in the case of Miss Carroll 
thus bereft to effect equally temperament, tastes and 
spirit. 

Life passes through a crucial period under such an 
ordeal. The whole nature is subjected to a great 
wrench, which either purifies and elevates or embitters 
and corrodes. The mind is frequently made morbidly 
subjective under the pressure of a deep affliction. Life 
is then, with despairing hopelessness, felt to be ‘‘not 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


233 


worth the living.’* Natures too often sour and harden; 
hecome cynical and morose; indifferent, alike, to the 
happiness or misery of others. On the other hand, to 
the obedient soul, such a loss has its rich, though dearly 
purchased compensations; for it stirs the deeper nature 
to such chords of human sympathy as transform and 
purify character, inspiring it with exalted aims, and 
thrilling it with sublime motives, until the spiritual life 
becomes the dominating power, controlling every fac- 
ulty, every aim and act. The beauty and wealth of 
essentially rich natures are thus revealed and brought 
into the highest play by means of great losses and great 
sorrows. 

With Miss Carroll, whom the reader has known thus- 
far as possessing extraordinary strength of purpose, 
great resoluteness, conscience and courage, the finer 
qualities of sympathy seemed now to find a more bounti- 
ful and beautiful expression. The more spiritual 
attributes of her being seemed to be set free to fulfill 
their diviner offices. That which, in company with 
Miss Montreau she had resolved to do, more under the 
incentive of the latter’s happy example than from any 
overmastering impulse, she now undertook in the name 
of her lost love, and by virtue of his spiritual presence 
commending and impelling her. 

We need not dwell upon this new and more conse- 
crated energy which seemed to have added wings, 
where, before, were only hands and feet. The maxi- 
mum power of Miss Carroll’s character asserted itself, 
and spurred her to work out to its full fruition her noble 


234 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


capacity. She dedicated her life and all the spiritual 
wealth which this implied to doing the essentially 
lovely things which the self-consecrating mission of a 
hospital nurse involves. She entered this service as if 
having received a direct divine commivssion. When 
asked for how long she was willing to enlist, she re- 
plied “for the war, or if needs be for life, since it is my 
highest joy to do this.” 

Not alone in the fulfillment of this beneficent office 
did she exhibit the various beauty of her character. 
There was a catholicity in her nature which blossomed 
into flower in many directions. Socially she held her- 
self much in reserve by the dignity and fidelity of pur- 
pose which dominated her, and which the social life 
does not actively promote. Religiously she was toler- 
ant of customs and conventional forms, though herself 
quite independent of their implied virtues. She felt the 
power of the intellectual life, and nourished her mind 
habitually and wholesomely. 

The poetic quality, as before hinted at, found its best 
promotion in her, through the medium of nature in its 
virgin retreats and wilder solitudes. There was a sol- 
vency and equitableness of balance in her temperament 
rarely found in women, or in men for that matter, which 
rounded and perfected her graces, and made them 
beatific under this new dispensation, sanctified by the 
loss of love; which proved, in anticipation, the justifica- 
tion of Tennyson’s immortal lines: 

“ ’Tis better to have loved and lost, 

Than never to have loved at all,” 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


235 


Instead of giving way to despair it will be seen that 
this “Daughter of the Revolution,” under the weight of 
her own woe, discovered and reverenced the sorrows of 
others. Miss Montreau had left her father, but not 
without his permission and blessing. She identified 
herself with the hospital service as completely as did 
Miss Carroll; but as her life had been a narrower one, 
her service was, perhaps, less impressive, less sym- 
pathetic; yet each complemented the other. Where one 
could exhilarate and strengthen a patient through the 
magnetism of personal presence, the other, by the simple 
fidelity to detail, and the assiduous and delicate care- 
fulness in treatment, soothed and comforted. 

Thus the two were loved and esteemed in the depart- 
ment over which they presided, during the dark and 
stormy years of the war for liberty. And though the 
histories of this period and events may not record the 
names of these two devotees, thay were borne by 
women who figured as heroically if not as dramatically 
as the greatest war generals of their time. Passing 
from one field of service to another and another, they 
became known by all the general officers, and by all of 
the surgeons in the army, and were cherished for their 
unselfish consecration to the cause as being “little less 
than angels.” 

This new life, in the adoption of which Miss Carroll 
bad surrendered social advantages, and those worldly 
considerations which are especially valued by many 
young ladies, was, to her mind, endeared by the thought 
that she was fulfilling the wish of the one who had 


238 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


gone before, and who, she believed, was registering her 
consecration on high. 

She wrote her father as soon after the death of 
Andros as she conld command herself to do so. Her 
letter was charged with a wealth of tender thoughts 
concerning the memory of Andros. “I cannot,” she 
said in this letter, “express to you the hold that his 
memory has gained over me. Day by day I seem to 
be communing with him. We spent precious hours 
and days together during his illness, in the hospital on 
the Upper Lakes, and again in the hospital near 
Albany, in which we conversed much on life and 
death. The beauty of his mind, the gentleness and 
elevation of his spirit, shone in his words and thoughts. 
I cannot reconcile myself to the loss that has overtaken 
me. That which can give greatest relief in my loneli- 
ness is the course which I have resolved to pursue. 
Miss Montreau has joined me in enlisting for service in 
the hospital of the Continental army. There is such a 
field for noble and generous work in this service that 
we both feel our sympathies and consciences alike re- 
sponding to this resolution which we have taken. It is 
wholly a nonpartisan service, and would be equally 
commendable whichever cause were selected; indeed 
the British army furnishes us with many patients who 
are hospital prisoners; especially since the great vic- 
tory of the Continentals. I am sure you will give me 
your hearty sanction and blessing since you know that 
in offering my life for this work, I am taking almost 
the only course which promises to me consolation and 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


23; 


happiness. I can anticipate what your choice would 
be; you would have me return ai:d take up the duties 
of mistress in the mansion once more; you would say 
to me that you think this would be my true course, and 
one which would the more surely express dignity and 
propriety in the daughter of the governor. Ah, well, 
if I am right in divining your thoughts, I should 
shrink from the publicity which such a career would 
necessitate. Sometime, if I live, I shall go home 
again, but not now. I think of you many, many 
times during my daily rounds here in the hospital, 
where our service involves contact with sad cases, des- 
perately wounded men, who before they die implore us 
to write to their beloved ones. Our hands are full of 
this labor of love, which, while it wrings our hearts, 
enables us to bestow benefits and comfortings to many 
a poor soul passing into the shadowland. 

“Oh, the horrors of war, how they harrow the heart. 
Could men in place and power see the half of the 
suffering entailed by its cruelties, they would concede 
much for peace. The times will surely come when 
wars and rumors of wars will be heard of no more, and 
all differences will be relegated to reason and the for- 
bearance which man should entertain toward his fellow- 
man. But since wars must be, and since we are now 
in the midst of one, I shall give my energies and heart 
to mitigating, as far as possible, the bitter suffering 
which it involves. Dear father, I long to see you. 
You sometimes say to yourself (do you not?) ‘Oh, my 
wayward daughter, why will she not return to her 


^38 DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 

home and be a comfort to me?’ But after reading this 
you will, I know, give me credit for not leaving you 
through any vain wish, or from any weak motive. 
Remember me to the household and offer prayers, as I 
do daily for you, that I may have strength given me 
for the work in hand. 

‘‘Farewell, dear father, until we meet. 

“Ever your devoted daughter, Charlotte. 

“Hospital near Albany. 

“October 20, 1777.” 

As the father read over and over this sincere and 
affectionate epistle from his daughter, now in the 
enemy’s camp, his heart went out in love to her for 
her noble bearing and spirit; in secret he was proud of 
her, but he kept from public knowledge her new field 
of duty, and her revolutionary sentiments. He could 
not help sympathizing with her in her distress at the 
great loss which her love had met, but, man of the 
world as he was, this very loss revived his hopes that 
she might be led to look upon her social position as a 
means to the gratification of his pride of family, and 
some day make an alliance which would be fitting and 
advantageous to the prospects and ambitions he still 
fondly cherished. Men are so short-sighted sometimes. 
Did he not know his daughter? In many ways he was 
a keen observer of human nature, but more, perhaps in 
the study of its frailties and weaknesses than in com- 
prehending the higher motives which master and con- 
trol a noble spirit. 


DAUGHTERS OE THE REVOLUTION. 


^30 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

The months passed. Burgoyne had surrendered his 
army, some ten thousand men, and much war material 
to the Continentals. The defeat was crushing to the 
pride of the chief and his generals, while it gave great 
encouragement to the revolutionary forces. The hos- 
pital of the Northern army was transferred from the 
field to more suitable and seasonable quarters at 
Albany. 

Miss Montreau and Miss Carroll were inseparable in 
their interests as in their persons. Young Fairfax had 
labored with his betrothed, but in vain, to arrange an 
early marriage. She decided definitely that she could 
more acceptably perform her duties to which she was 
now pledged, free from the obligations of a married 
life, and that, since the choice of time had been left en- 
tirely to her decision, she should defer the union until 
a more convenient season. The mind of Miss Montreau 
was not prosaic, nor especially practical; she did ’not 
lack sentiment or responsive feeling, but above all she 
was the faithful servant of a conscience which was alive 
to the full obligations that duty imposed. 

In the years of war which followed, and which saw 
the passage of six summers and winters ere the morn 
of peace dawned, a union as deep and sweet as ever 


^40 daughters of the revolution. 

joined two hearts, bound together, as one, these Sisters 
of Mercy. They neither tired of their work, nor for 
one moment faltered in the most arduous devotion. In 
these years they witnessed great trials and poverty, 
great deprivations and seasons of despair, both with the 
leaders of the people, and of the army. Whatever the 
fortunes of war, these two consecrated women fulfilled, 
in the face of every adversity, the allotted tasks, how’- 
ever severe or under whatever onerous conditions, 
which fell to their hands. They dwelt in huts, and 
bore the chilly blasts of winters which pierced with 
deadly disease many half-clad soldiers, and they shared 
with the troops their scant supplies. 

The great commander-in-chief, Washington, knew 
these Daughters of the Revolution and held them in 
reverent regard, bestowing upon them such tributes of 
commendation as filled their hearts with gladness and 
their spirits with greater incentive. The cause and its 
fortunes became to them infinitely more sacred than 
life, more precious than anything that the world could 
bestow, Nothing swerved them; nothing daunted 
them; brave, faithful, patient, skillful and loving, they 
became the honored ideals of all who sought for noble- 
ness in womanhood. They seemed to be under the pro- 
tection of more than mortal power. Sickness was un- 
known by them. The scenes of suffering and death 
which were constantly before them, far from hard- 
ening them, made their hearts the tenderer and their 
service the gentler. A thousand mothers thanked them 
for the sake and in the name of soldier-sons who were 
relieved or solaced by their sweet benefactions. 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


241 


At last, when the time came in which they found 
release from their self-imposed labors, the benedictions 
of a whole army rested upon them. The generals, by 
common consent, bestowed upon them the title of 
“Daughters of the Revolution,” and by this title they 
are introduced to the readers of this story, which is 
chiefly written that two brave girls may be preserved, 
in commemoration, in the traditions of the Revolution, 
as noble examples of heroism in a labor of love as con- 
secrated and sanctified as ever won saintship or merited 
monuments of bronze or marble. 




DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

CONCLUSION. 

In the little village of Clinton Heights lived years 
after the conclusion of this story, the rector, the Rev. 
Franklin Montreau, D.D., and with him dwelt his 
daughter Grace. The war is over and she has changed 
her name. She is no longer Miss Montreau, but Mrs. 
John Fairfax. Two little children, a boy and a girl, 
call her mother, though the younger, the boy, can 
hardly yet lisp the fond word. They are perfectly con- 
tented and happy in the wild life of this almost wilder- 
ness land. 

The husband and father is the chief business man of 
the whole region, and in his three years of residence 
there, since the war ended, has won the esteem and 
confidence of all who know him. Grace devotes her- 
self, and as much of her time as is possible, to her old, 
kindly, charitable service among the needy of the vil- 
lage, while her father, full of faith and work, is the 
seer of the church, the good counselor, the constant 
benefactor, performing innumerable oflSces in behalf of 
his humble parishioners, and bearing their burdens in 
his noble heart. 

In settling the question of home, the choice was 


DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 


24J 


offered to the young bride, soon after the marriage, 
either to go to New York, where her husband had for- 
merly lived and engaged in business, or to settle at the 
old home of her father. It is not strange that she 
chose the latter. She needed no novel changes or 
scenes to make her happy. The joys and associations 
of her life centered about the woods, the hills and the 
lakes of the region in which she had formerly dwelt 
and labored. There they lived in peace and quiet, lov- 
ing and beloved. God granted health, happiness and 
long years to their little household. 

On returning to town life in New York, after years 
of war-hospital service. Miss Carroll found her father 
deposed from the office of governor-general of the prov- 
ince, and residing in comparative seclusion in one of 
the old colonial mansions, situated in the suburbs. It 
was her happiness to take up the quiet, homely affairs 
of the household and do all that she could to compen- 
sate for the loss in station and influence which her 
father had suffered. 

Her own self-surrender in behalf of the war for inde- 
pendence had made for her an enviable name, and be- 
fore she had fairly settled at her father’s home, she was 
the center of a large circle of old and new friends, who 
delighted in every way to do her honor, and to mani- 
fest their admiration for the patriotism and love she ex- 
hibited in her devotion to the welfare of the soldiers 
through the years of tragedy and death. 

No, dear reader, she never married. Not long after 
the close of the war a young Virginian visited New 


‘244 DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION. 

York, and although younger by years than Charlotte 
Carroll, offered himself to her, pleading ardently with 
her to change her name and become the wife of James 
Monroe, the devoted friend of her first and only love. 

With gentle but firm words she declined the pro- 
posal. Even if she could have foreseen that her accept- 
ance of him would have made her the mistress of the 
White House for the eight years during which her re- 
jected suitor filled the great office of President of the 
United States, it may be safely conjectured that her 
answer to his suit would have been the same. 

She was not too old to dwell in the present, and to 
find much in life which appealed to her heart and min- 
istered to her pleasure and profit. But having loved 
once, and having lost her beloved, there could never be 
another in all the wide world to fill the place in her 
heart and life which was consecrated to the one who 
had been taken from her. 


FINIS. 




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